


Working Boys - A Screenplay Concept Script

by northvillehigh



Series: Working Boys [1]
Category: Starkid, The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals, tgwdlm - Fandom
Genre: henry has a cat, ok thats it pls enjoy :), the co-author & i have no idea how ao3 works, this can alternately be called: i forced my interest of hidgens onto my friend, workin boys, yea co-author 2 would die for henry hidgens what abt it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22394245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northvillehigh/pseuds/northvillehigh
Summary: Henry Hidgens is an average, kooky, reclusive biology professor with a mysterious, unknown past to his students. With little to no known family and only his job and a fat tabby cat to keep him company, Henry eventually crosses paths with old friends that change the course of his life forever.*Note, this script is entirely fan-made and inspired by The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals from Starkid, originally written by Nick and Matt Lang and Jeff Blim. We own none of the characters, only our own writing.
Series: Working Boys [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611850
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Working Boys - A Screenplay Concept Script

WORKING BOYS  


Based off of Starkid’s musical “The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals” written by Nick and Matt Lang and Jeff Blim

(Open on a dark screen, saturation slowly becoming light and showing HENRY, who’s obviously facing death. He looks ill and close to completely dying. He doesn’t speak. The camera is fully focused on Hidgen’s face, the background blurred with Stu and Greg silent and watching, although their figures are fuzzy and almost unrecognizable.)  
(The camera slowly begins to pan down Hidgens’ body as we hear his narration, going from his twisted, pale face down to his feet, showing his hanging guts.)  
HENRY:  
As a biology professor, I knew quite a lot about the human body. About death, about the brain. Death itself is not a scary thing, for it happens to everyone under the planet’s merciless rule. As my life begins to replay through my mind’s eye, I notice some details that I may have missed before. Regrets, maybe. I never considered myself to be a regretful person; everything I do, I do for a reason. It’s simply a way of living, a way to live without anxieties or pain. 

(A beat. The camera pans around the room. It shows a slowed motion action shot of Emma and Ted getting saved by Paul, untied, their relief evident on their faces. As Paul, in the slow motion scene, tosses the last bit of rope aside and takes Ted’s chair, they exit the bunker with a sense of understood urgency. Hidgens’ narration is still heard.)

There wasn’t anything prominent as my life flashed before my eyes. I’ve done countless hours of research about the human brain. I suppose it’s the reason I wasn’t too shocked about my current situation. Biology wasn’t for the faint of heart. Dissections, discoveries… Maybe I should’ve taken up forensics.  
(Beat.)  
I suppose my premature retirance will be enough. 

(The camera pans around the lab. Empty and full beakers, a mess of a working station, a book shelf, notebooks, pens, crumbled pieces of paper on the floor and on the countertops of the lab. The camera eventually pans back to Hidgens, a close up of his eyes. The audience can visibly see the life slipping from them, his eyes flickering a bit as he tries to remain conscious.) 

I never expected to go this way. That I’d be removed from this earth due to disembowelment. I wish I could’ve detected my situation earlier. Many would always say that I was too smart for my own good. I’m only now starting to believe that, mere moments before my death. Which brings me to the real question that scientists have been trying to answer for years; what does one think or see mere moments before the pass to the other side? Your brain does not shut down immediately, contrary to what some perceive. In fact, the last thing to go is the hearing. I could hear everything, yet nothing at all. It was dead silent, ironically- no noise, not even the breathing of my old friends holding onto my limp, close to death body…

(A beat. Henry’s eyes open, as if he’s made an astounding discovery.)

My dear friends. Greg and Stu, right behind me, holding me as I take my final breaths. The brain continues to work for 3 to 5 minutes after death, and it takes you through the many stages of your life. Mine just happened to skip through some irrelevant parts, but one distinct memory stood out. It started around a year ago, almost on the nose. A cool spring evening, after my last class of the day, when I was introduced to a young woman who had recently transferred into my biology course.

(As Hidgens begins to explain some exposition, the camera pans to the inside of a lecture hall. It’s been, for the most part, cleared of students, but one young woman has hung back. She slings a small bag over her shoulder with some books/notebooks/pencil case inside, before approaching Hidgens at the front of the class. The lighting is a bit dull, most of the light source coming from outside the hall rather than interior light. Hidgens is seated at his desk, writing/marking a few papers, when Emma finally approaches the desk, albeit a bit nervous.)

EMMA:  
Professor?

(Hidgens glances up from his paper. The camera finally sees a full shot of a healthy, yet still well-aged older man. The corners of his lips turn up, and he quirks a brow, almost as if he’s surprised at the woman’s presence.)

HENRY:  
Afternoon. Er, forgive me, do I have you in class?

EMMA:  
Yes, yeah, uh, you do. I’m Emma. I kinda… tend to stay close to the back.

HENRY:  
Well, the pleasure’s all mine, Emma. What can I help you with? Class has been over for a bit now.

EMMA:  
Oh, yes, I know, professor, it’s just… I was transferred into your class, and… I have an assignment that was due last week. I’m the one that emailed about the extension. 

HENRY:  
(HENRY accepts the paper that EMMA hands to him. He scans it, flipping through the pages. Emma looks over the top of the page a bit, trying to read HENRY’s expressions.)

Looks very nice to me, Miss Emma. I’ll get that in and graded as soon as I can. 

(EMMA seems very relaxed at the work being accepted. She smiles in relief, nodding a bit.)

EMMA:  
Thank you, professor.  
(A beat. EMMA seems hesitant to leave the lecture hall. She rocks on her heels.)  
Uh… I very much look forward to the rest of your class, professor.

HENRY:  
Thank you, Emma. I look forward to having you in my class. It’s nice to know there are some students who don’t just take this course as a schedule filler, but actually, honestly share a gift for biology. And, by a simple glance at your assignment...  
(He gestures to the papers EMMA has turned in.)  
... I can tell we’ll have a great time throughout the rest of the year. 

(EMMA smiles and nods.)

EMMA:  
Thank you, Professor. 

(HENRY nods, smiles, then looks back down to continue marking papers. EMMA hesitates once more, but eventually leaves moments later.)

(The scene changes to HENRY at his home, in his lab, messing with some chemicals. He’s humming quietly, a small smile quirking at his lips as he begins to mix two liquids in a beaker. There’s a small puff of smoke, and he chuckles. He pours the solution in a jar, marking the lid with a number, then sets it on a shelf full of similar solutions with different numbers. He sighs. A crash is heard from the opposite side of the room.)

HENRY:  
Oh, no! Tabatha! Get back here right now! Don’t you dare lick that!

(Hidgens picks up a fat, old tabby cat that simply grumbles in disappointment.)

Now, what did I tell you about coming into the lab while I’m working? I’m a very busy man. Have you no shame? What have you got to say for yourself?

(The camera pans to the cat, simply staring at HENRY.)

TABATHA:  
Purhhb?

(HENRY tsks. Then scratches the cat’s head.)

HENRY:  
Argh, I can’t stay mad at you for too long, Tabby. Would you like some fresh air before I finish marking papers?

(HENRY carries the cat out of the lab and into the den. He puts her in a little cat harness, attaching a stretchy leash to her harness. He pulls on his blazer, unlocking the front door, TABATHA leading the way. He hums as he walks out, looking up at the sunset.)

Oh, you see that, Tabby? The moon, look at the moon! It’s a full moon tonight, Tabby, do you see? How wonderful.

(A beat. HENRY smiles. The camera is far away from HENRY, all we see is his silhouette. He’s staring up at the sky, the sunset in the background, the moon beginning to peak from the top of the clouds. As the camera focuses back on HENRY and we begin to see more of his details, a small smile on his face, wrinkles on either side of his eyes to show he smiles rarely, but, when he does, he’s so filled with joy that he just can’t stop.)

We won’t stay out too long, my dear Tabby. 

(A beat. HENRY and the fat cat begin to trudge along among the streets over the neighborhood.)

I’ve always loved the moon, Tabby.

(A beat. He stops, the cat pulling on the long leash. He looks back up at the slowly, but surely, setting sun. A few stars begin to dot the sky.)

I’d always imagine teaching science, maybe astrology. Biology was almost a fallback. Guess that’s the reason we have minors. But you can’t minor in education, Tabby. Isn’t that odd? Well, I suppose it’s not odd. You probably should have a main focus on education if you’re set on being a teacher.

(A beat.)

I had a friend in college who studied astrology. Greg. He wanted to work at NASA. It was always his childhood dream. As much as he hated talking about it, he’d get so excited. We’d be going to bed and he’d point out the window of our old, beat up, shared house, and he’d tell us the name of every star in the sky.

(HENRY seems to be reminiscing, when TABBY nudges him, rubbing against his leg. HENRY snaps out of whatever nostalgic trance he was in and proceeds to walk down the sidewalk.)

(Cut to: Long Shot of the street, showing HENRY walking towards camera, humming with TABBY’s leash in his hand. They make it further into town; although, the further into town they get, the darker the skyline grows. A few drops of rain begin to fall, and TABBY hisses. HENRY groans, picking up TABBY and carries her down the street to find someplace to wait out the rain.)

Why, we’ll head home right after the rain calms down. Besides, I have to grade that Emma girl’s assignment.

(HENRY pushes open the door of a 24/7 convenience store. He smiles at the clerk, hiding the cat in his coat.) 

Excuse me, hi, I’ll just be waiting out the rain. Er… I’ll buy something, too, sir. Yes, I will. Let me have a look-see around. Thank you.

(HENRY wanders around, TABBY meowing and whining in his coat.)

Please, Tabatha, calm down. We’ll be home in… In a hop skip and jump, huh?

(He wanders to the snack aisle, seeing a man his age in clear distress at the telephone, trying to dial a number. HENRY can’t help but wander closer to the man on the phone, pretending to be searching for a specific snack. The camera splits the shot by an aisle of snack food splitting; designating HENRY to one side and the man of the phone to the other.)

MAN ON THE PHONE:  
Yes, yes, I’m in Hatchetfield now. Oh, yes, I’ll be fine. I’ve told you, I’ll only be here for a little while. Yes, yes, mom. 

(HENRY stifles a chuckle. The MAN ON THE PHONE glances back, then back to the phone, then doubletakes. He stares at HENRY, mouth falling open. HENRY furrows his brows, then returns back to looking at the snacks, although he still feels the eyes of the MAN ON THE PHONE on the back of his head.)

I’ll call you back when I get to my hotel, ma. Yes, I promise. Alright, I’m running out of time, anyway. I only put 50 cents in. Okay, yes, mom, I will. I promise I will call back. Goodbye.

(The MAN ON THE PHONE drops the phone, letting it dangle from the cord attached to the wall.)

MAN ON THE PHONE:  
Henry?

(HENRY doubletakes, turning around, TABBY still shoved in his blazer, holding a bag of gummy worms in his hand. He smiles sheepishly.)

(The camera switches to the MAN ON THE PHONE. He looks astonished.)

Henry Hidgens.

(The camera pans back to HENRY. He nods slowly, looking the man over, trying for the life of him to remember who the man is.)

I never thought I’d see the day where Henry Hidgens stayed in Hatchetfield. I thought you’d be off teaching biology in Jersey. You always talked about how bad you wanted to go to Jersey.

HENRY:  
Well, who would want to go to Jersey?

(HENRY wets his lips, adjusting TABBY in his coat so she won’t fall. He nervously looks the man up and down, desperately trying to figure out who the man is.)

I’m so sorry, sir, I… I don’t seem to know who you are.

(The MAN ON THE PHONE nods, glancing away for a moment.)

MAN ON THE PHONE:  
Oh, I didn’t… I didn’t believe you’d remember me, yes. Of course, how could you remember me?

HENRY:  
(Genuinely apologetic for a moment.)  
I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t.

(The MAN ON THE PHONE simply smiles. He takes off a warm hat, obviously travelling from a cooler place to Hatchetfield. He shoves it in the deep pocket of his thick jacket, revealing what once was red hair, now thin and silver with age. By the smile lines evident in his forehead and cheeks and near his eyes, it’s evident that the MAN ON THE PHONE is a kind soul, and prone to smile. He’s pale and around the same age as HENRY.)

MAN ON THE PHONE:  
(He chuckles, gesturing vaguely. He nods his head a bit.)  
Henry...

(A beat. HENRY looks confused, now petting TABY’S head. She paws at HENRY’s hand, almost as if to get him to notice who the man is.)

Henry.

(HENRY shakes his head, murmuring a soft apology. The MAN ON THE PHONE chuckles, sighing softly. He pushes back thin, faded hair to show his ear, which has a nearly closed earring hole. HENRY blinks, noticing who the man is.) 

HENRY:  
(He squints, then his own mouth falls open momentarily.)  
Chad?

(CHAD chuckles, nodding a bit, before placing his hat back on the top of his head.)

What in God’s name are you doing back in Hatchetfield? I thought you said you were never coming back after graduation!

CHAD:  
I wasn’t planning on it. In fact, I thought about starting a whole new life in California and just move away altogether. 

(A beat. Chad lets out a sigh, looking away, then back to HENRY.)

I had to come back. I’m newly retired.

HENRY:  
You’re kidding!

CHAD:  
Nosir. I burnt my bridges, paid my dues, then decided for one more romp in Hatchetfield. Just to visit, go to a museum, visit the old community college.  
(Beat.)  
You’re full of surprises. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I could’ve sworn you moved to Jersey.

HENRY:  
Who said all this hub-bub about me moving to Jersey?

CHAD:  
It’s all I heard about the last time I saw you. All you could gush about is how you couldn’t wait to get away from Hatchetfield. Will all due respect, I understand it now. Some homeless guy tried to follow me back to my hotel earlier.

(HENRY nods. They stand in silence for a moment. The camera pans to a long shot of the two of them staring at each other, until there’s a strike of lightning outside.)

HENRY:  
Why didn’t you use the phone in your hotel room? I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with your… mom?

(CHAD sighs, but chuckles nonetheless. The clerk looks up, obviously irritated.)

STORE CLERK:  
You gonna buy anything? ‘Cause I have to write a loitering report if not.

(HENRY apologizes, goes to the front with a bag of gummy worms. He pays for them in spare change, TABBY still tucked away in his blazer. He takes the worms from the counter, smiling uneasily as he glances to the storm outside. He sighs.)

HENRY:  
Nice to see you again, Chad. Maybe I’ll catch you another time while you’re in town.

(CHAD nods. HENRY begins to leave the shop when CHAD follows him out.)

CHAD:  
Hey, Henry… Henry!

(CHAD follows HENRY outside.)

Hey, let me drive you home, alright? This storm seems really bad. Plus, you have a… er…

HENRY:  
Her name is Tabatha. Tabby, for short.

CHAD:  
Yeah, right, sorry.

(A beat.)

My car’s right outside. I can give you a lift home. It’s the least I can do for an old friend, right?

(HENRY sighs. The camera shows a wide shot of HENRY and CHAD staring at each other, another crackle of lightning behind them. TABBY tucked in HENRY’s blazer begins to whine, meow, and paw at HENRY. He sighs, then nods, accepting the offer.)

(The camera pans to HENRY and CHAD in CHAD’s car. The rain is falling heavily now, and they’re essentially quiet. 

So… Your cat, er, Tabatha, right? How long have you had her?

HENRY:  
Three years coming up in a few months. I got her for my 60th birthday… Well, I adopted her that day. In fact, I was going out to supper at some diner in downtown Hatchetfield, and I passed this salon that had this poor little cat inside. I went inside, got a birthday haircut, and asked how much for her.  
(A beat. He smiles fondly at the memory.)  
The owner told me just to take her; she was old and going to die anyway. I said- well, I wasn’t expecting to live this long either! If an old man like me can take care of myself for this long without any mishaps, I’m sure a fat, old tabby cat can live a happy, long life.  
(A beat.)  
I don’t quite have a family; but Tabby is pretty much all I need to keep me company.

CHAD:  
That’s very sweet, Henry.  
(A beat. He returns his focus to the road, the silence becoming uncomfortable and silent again.)  
How’s the biology professing gig going?

HENRY:  
Oh, fine, I suppose. I have a few bad eggs, but, hey, when you’re put in biology as a filler course, I don’t expect them to be cheery and grinny.  
(A beat. HENRY clears his throat, staring out the window. TABBY meows, pawing at HENRY. He readjusts her in his blazer.)  
There are, of course, a few students that stick out, of course. In fact, I’ve most recently gotten a real good one transferred in-  
(A beat. HENRY realizes something.)  
Oh, shoot, Emma! I promised her I’d get her report graded for tomorrow. Oh, a sweet girl, she is. She reminds me a lot of myself, in fact- oh, not like that, Chad. In the context, well, she cares. Too much. Oh, I don’t want that to die. I should’ve stayed home and graded her assignment... 

CHAD:  
Henry, it’s still a bit early. The night’s still young. A tired grading of an assignment never killed anyone.

HENRY:  
I suppose.  
(A beat.)  
It’s just… Many don’t care. Oh, and my grading TV program won’t be on at this hour! I have a specific show that gives the most delightful background entertainment while I work, and it’s over by now. It’s a tradition I developed a while ago. It didn’t even come out on TV until 1987… In fact, I wasn’t even in college at that time. It must’ve developed after my student teaching, writing days-

(CHAD slams on the breaks at the mention of college, causing HENRY to gasp at the feeling of the seatbelt restricting him in his seat. The sheer force causes both CHAD and HENRY to practically jump out of their seats. HENRY sputters for a few moments before speaking up, the car completely stopped.)

What the hell, Chad?!

(CHAD stares out of the windshield, dumbfounded, gripping on the steering wheel, knuckles white. The camera pans to CHAD’s face, his eyes wide.)

CHAD:  
You used to watch a specific show when you were working?

HENRY:  
Yes, but I don’t understand what that has to do with- 

CHAD:  
Oh, Henry, don’t you remember?  
(CHAD’s demeanor seems to have shifted. He’s now grinning.)  
Henry, you used to watch that show… I can’t remember that name… but you used to watch it while you were writing. You wrote that story, that- that script… oh, what was the title?

HENRY:  
(A beat, dumbfounded. The camera pans to HENRY his expression twisting. He chuckles quietly.)  
Working Boys. That musical I wrote back in college.

CHAD:  
I remember you writing it like it was just yesterday! You’d lock yourself away for hours on end with crappy equipment from garage sales, and you’d type or write and you’d hum out little tunes into your tape recorder… How times have changed, huh?

(The two laugh, and HENRY glances to CHAD.)

I think we’re at your place, Henry. It was nice catching up with you.

(HENRY lingers in the car for a moment. He glances out the window, then back to CHAD. He smiles.)

HENRY:  
It was nice catching up with you, too. Perhaps you should visit again before you head home?

(HENRY begins to get out of the car, his hand on the door, standing in the car’s entrance for a moment.)

CHAD:  
Henry?

HENRY:  
Yes?

(A beat. The camera shows both HENRY and CHAD staring at each other in silence, rain falling quietly in the background, wetting HENRY’s hair and clothing, TABBY paws at HENRY.)

CHAD:  
I’d very much enjoy visiting you again.

(HENRY smiles. He chuckles quietly before nodding wordlessly.)

HENRY:  
Thank you for the ride home. I’ll see you soon- er… stay dry!

(HENRY closes the car door, hurrying into his house, unlocking the door, letting TABBY loose. She runs upstairs, the camera following HENRY as he takes off his shoes and soaked blazer, shaking out his hair. He goes to his extension of his “lab” locking it up, screwing lids on jars, organizing, etc. He goes upstairs afterwards. The camera cuts to different clips of his nightly routine; the water of a shower, HENRY brushing his teeth, making his bed, etc. HENRY goes to a calendar above a small wooden desk, crossing out the current day in red marker. He finally climbs into bed, opening the drawer of his bedside table. He digs to the bottom, pulling out a framed picture of his college graduation, dated at the bottom. A small note is attached to the back, the camera focusing on the note. The note reads, “Happy graduation day, Henry! Cheers-” followed by multiple different signatures. Some are scribbles, but there are a distinct six written. The camera pans to HENRY. He smiles, setting the frame up on his dressing table, smudging some collected dust off of it with his thumb. He lies down, taking one final look at the photograph, sighing softly.)

HENRY:  
Oh, how the times have changed.

(HENRY clicks off his lamp, leaving the scene in darkness.)

(The next time the camera comes up, it’s light outside, and an alarm clock goes off. HENRY yawns and stretches, rubbing his eyes. He slips on a pair of slippers, humming as he heads to the kitchen. As he gets up, the camera travels past a digital clock that reads 5:30. A calendar above a wooden desk across the room shows the date, the previous days crossed out with red marker. The current date has “CLASS AT NOON” written on it. All the audience hears is the sound of HENRY’s slippers dragging on the floor as he walks to the kitchen, turning on the radio, a man and a woman- DAN and DONNA -proceed to explain a random broadcast. The news report plays in the background as HENRY makes himself a pot of coffee, pouring himself a little bit of black coffee. He takes a long drink, makes himself toast, and opens the fridge, selecting a random jam jar without a label. HENRY proceeds to go to his room, selecting a black turtleneck and khakis, as well as his now dried blazer. He checks the clock as he brushes his hair; it reads 6:00 now.)

(The camera shows HENRY going to grab his work folders, EMMA’s assignment on top. He smiles tucking it into the folder. He drives to work, the radio in his car playing DAN and DONNA’s broadcasting. We can’t make out much of the story, other than one word: APOTHEOSIS. HENRY gets out of his car, humming as he goes to his classroom. He sits down, beginning to grade EMMA’s assignment.)

(The story now shys away from HENRY for a moment, as the camera travels from the lecture hall to a dorm across the way. It looks into the window of a room with a young woman fast asleep. The clock reads 7:30, and an alarm goes off. The young woman hits snooze for what seems like a reflex, as she’s probably done it many times in the past few minutes. She opens her eyes, swears under her breath, and, quite literally, rolls out of bed. She’s wearing an old Hatchetfield High School tee shirt, her hair tied up messily, wearing Christmas pajama pants; a bit odd for the middle of spring. As the camera follows her in the bathroom, she washes her face, the camera panning to the mirror. The audience sees this is EMMA. She does a basic morning routine, heading out of the dorm with a backpack slung over her shoulder. She stops midway, holding her phone in her hands. The camera shows that the phone has a reminder set; class at eight.)

EMMA:  
Shit.

(EMMA races to a building, reading the sign on the door. She quickly hurries inside, breathless as she sits down.)

PROFESSOR:  
Alright, I’m expecting you’ve all done the homework from last night, yeah? We’ll be finishing up our guide for tomorrow’s quiz. Easy day. 

(EMMA realizes something’s wrong; she went into the wrong class. She panics, beginning to pack her belongings up.)

Excuse me, miss? Please sit down.

EMMA:  
Oh, no, it’s not like that, I’m sorry, I-

PROFESSOR:  
Please, sit down.

(EMMA sits down, embarrassed. She sighs quietly, trying to pay attention to the lecture of a class she doesn’t even take. She pulls out her laptop, nonetheless, pretending to work along. She receives an email from a Henry Hidgens. She opens it. The camera pans to show the screen of the laptop. “Emma,” it reads, “your assignment was absolutely delightful! I cannot thank you enough for sharing your gifts with me. See you in class today. -Professor Hidgens.” EMMA smiles and lets out a breath. She physically relaxes, as if she can tell that things will be alright for her.)

(The camera pans back to HENRY in his hall, the clock eventually showing 12:00. A few students file in, including EMMA. HENRY begins to project some material onto the board, obviously struggling as a few students try to talk him through it while others simply laugh. HENRY still struggles, almost becoming a bit flustered.)

STUDENT:  
Professor- Professor. Just… drag the cursor to the side of the screen.

HENRY:  
Oh- right… I’m just some old bat, kids. I don’t understand this technology. I suppose the old fashion lecture would suffice.

(HENRY turns off the projector, standing in front of the class. He leans against his desk, almost like a stereotypical “cool” teacher.)

Alright, so genetic variability, right? Genetics are the science of heredity, variability is the study of genetically different organisms, mostly due to breeding, crossing over, or- or mutations, yes. 

(HENRY drones on in the background. The camera pans around the classroom a bit. A few students are taking half-assed notes, some aren’t paying attention at all, until the camera pans to EMMA, who is diligently note-taking. She only occasionally looks up. We pan back to the clock, seeing how quickly the time is passing, and, according to HENRY, the class is over. Students begin to file out, and EMMA stays behind to collect her belongings.)

HENRY:  
Emma, Emma! May I speak to you for a moment?

(EMMA approaches HENRY at the front of the room. She smiles nervously as HENRY begins to file through his folder.)

Here you go, Emma. Your essay was amazing- a… a breath of fresh air, even. Show stopping!

(EMMA laughs, flattered.)

EMMA:  
Thank you, professor,  
(A beat. EMMA seems to be filing through some of the professor’s notes.)  
Professor? Er… not to be crass, but you corrected some correct information. In the scenario given in the prompt, the child would have been given the recessive gene. You said it was the dominant gene… But still gave me full credit.

(HENRY chuckles, taking the assignment from her to reread it.)

HENRY:  
Oh, forgive me, Emma. My eyes aren’t as chipper as they used to me, I’m afraid. I’m simply an old bat now.

EMMA:  
You don’t have glasses or some other kind of aid?

HENRY:  
I’m afraid I’ve been on my own since my… my college graduation, Emma. I don’t go out much- unless I’m taking my Tabby out for a walk. It’s no use to go see an eye doctor.

EMMA:  
Oh, you have a dog, at least?

HENRY:  
Oh, oh, no, she’s a fat, old tabby cat.

EMMA:  
Oh, er… understood, professor.

HENRY:  
Now, I apologize for that mix-up. You’ll still have your full credit.

EMMA:  
What do you do in your spare time, professor?

HENRY:  
My spare time? Oh, why, not much, Emma. I walk my cat, I grade papers… I’m not officially retiring any time soon… In fact, I consider my job now retirement! I love what I do, Emma. Your generation is the future, Emma, and I have the honor of educating it. Now, you should run along, I suppose. You must have another class; you shouldn’t be wasting your time talking to a loony old professor.

EMMA:  
I’m guessing I’m a little loony myself. I went to the wrong class this morning. Stayed for the entire thing, ruined my attendance record for the other class.

HENRY:  
Oh, Emma. I’m sorry to hear that. Well, it was a mistake. You’re an honest girl, yes? I’m sure you’re fine.

(EMMA nods, but she doesn’t make a move to leave. Her face twists with something unreasonable, almost guilt.)

EMMA:  
Do you ever go out with friends? Or… Or to family gatherings?

HENRY:  
Me? Oh, good God, no, Emma. I was never married, never had children or grandchildren, my only family is my little Tabatha. I enjoy being alone, though. Living in solitude makes for no danger, no association with danger, if you understand what I mean. I don’t drive often, either. Only to work. It’s bad for the environment, you know? As a biology professor and an educator altogether, you must be aware of those types of things.

EMMA:  
How do you get groceries? How do you function with little to no transportation and no family?  
(A beat. EMMA almost begins to overshare about her personal life with her family, but she quickly backs off.)  
It must be difficult.

HENRY:  
Oh, I get by, Emma. No need to worry about me.

(EMMA doesn’t move, simply baffled by the professor. She opens her mouth, then closes it. She sighs quietly, shoving her assignment in her bag.)

EMMA:  
Professor, I… I have to get a few things for my dorm tonight. Would you like me to pick up some groceries for you, bring them to you? Maybe then you’ll have a fully stocked fridge.

HENRY:  
Oh, Emma. I couldn’t ask you to do that for me. I appreciate the sentiment, but…

EMMA:  
No strings attached, professor. I just… I understand what it’s like to not have a tight-knit family. It’s the least I could do to help you out.

(HENRY opens his mouth to respond, almost as if he’s ready to argue once again, but he simply nods.)

HENRY:  
(His voice grows quiet, almost choked up.)  
Thank you, Emma.

EMMA:  
Anytime, professor.

(They share one final look with each other, the camera showing a wide shot of the two of them staring at each other, when EMMA finally leaves the lecture hall. HENRY stares at the door, begins to nod slowly, and sits at his desk. He pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. He lets out a sharp breath, beginning to shuffle through papers, and begins to mark them. The camera pans to the hallway, showing an elevator. EMMA stands in front of it, pressing the button. It opens, and she steps inside, facing the camera. The doors slowly close, ending the scene.)

(The scene returns somewhere… It’s not Hatchetfield. The grounds are covered with condensation, almost as if it's been working to defrost all morning. The camera pans to a man opening the front door, grabbing a newspaper. He’s a bit older, dark hair still there, but a few strands colored a wispy silver, skin slightly wrinkled. He goes inside, wearing silk pajamas. The house is tidy and neat as a pin, but the man, as he finishes taking a sip from a mug, begins to dust. There are pictures on the wall, some of children, some of families, and one of a young man, the photo colored black and white, taking a knee, dressed in a football uniform holding his own football in his hand, under his arm. He’s grinning, and looks eerily similar to older man dusting. He looks at the pictures, smiling as he dusts them off one by one. An older woman is smiling back at him in a picture, and the man kisses the tip of his thumb, pressing it against the picture. He cleans the other pictures and their respective frames carefully. The camera follows him to his room on the second and final floor. He dresses off camera, but comes into frame afterwards. He goes back downstairs, sits himself on a couch, and begins to read the newspaper he has taken in. The front page, shown to the camera, shows a picture of a meteor, but the words aren’t in focus enough to make out what they say. We see a picture of a man and a woman, the man looking the same as the man reading the newspaper, but a few years younger, at an office party, dated at the bottom. The phone rings, and the man slowly rises from the couch, picking it up.)

MAN:  
Hello?

(A beat.)

Chad? Chad, what on earth are you calling me for?

(The audience hears murmuring from the phone, but can’t make out a word the other line is saying. The MAN takes a sip of his coffee.)

Henry Hidgens. I never thought I’d ever hear that man’s name again. Didn’t he move to Miami? 

(More mumbling. The MAN chuckles, taking another sip of coffee. He laughs into his coffee cup a bit.)

Working Boys? What? Oh, God, how could I remember that. That was ages ago. Remember when Henry would lock himself away with that tape recorder and preach to it about everything he wanted to write about…  
(A beat, as if the MAN is listening to what whoever on the other line is saying.)  
You want me to come back to Hatchetfield? No, no, I can’t go back there. Ever since my wife passed… You know I’m sensitive.  
(A beat. More mumbling.)  
Yes, I understand. I know you mean well… How in God’s name would he still have the original copy? There’s no way. I’m still grieving, and- and I’m retired. I can’t just up and go to Hatchetfield. Anywhere else would be a vacation, but… Hatchetfield?

(A beat. There is a hesitant pause, then more mumbling over the other line.)

You’re saying… one more time. One more time, all seven of us? Why, we’re all old, most of us retired, busy with our families… We can’t drop everything for Henry Hidgens. We’ve made that mistake too many times before. 

(A beat. The camera changes to show CHAD on the other line. He pinches the bridge of his nose.)

CHAD:  
Please, Stu. Just this once. We all haven’t seen each other in forever. It would mean the world to him.

(The camera pans back to STU, who is glancing back at the picture of the young man on the football field. The camera then pans to another frame, this one, the exact same as HENRY.)

STU:  
(After a moment of hesitation.)  
Fine. Fine. You win, Chad, you bastard.  
(STU smiles.)  
Nothing’s changed with you, huh? I’ll be back in Hatchetfield, for one weekend only, and that’s it.

CHAD:  
(Over the other line of the phone.)  
Henry’s gonna be thrilled. I can’t thank you enough, Stu.

STU:  
How could I refuse? Besides, I’ve never even seen the slightest bit of this well-known script. I guess it’s exciting, eh?

CHAD:  
I guess it is. I’ll see you then, Stu.

(STU hangs up, going over to the photos once again. He takes the picture of the seven college boys off the wall, looking it over. He smiles. The camera pans to a younger version of HENRY, fading into what he currently looks like at his home, marking papers. He looks up when he hears the doorbell, opening the front door to reveal EMMA with multiple bags on the length of her arms. She smiles.)

EMMA:  
Professor!

HENRY:  
Oh, dear, Emma. Let me help you with some of those bags.

(HENRY takes a few bags from EMMA’s arms, carrying them inside to the kitchen.)

Now, Emma, you didn’t have to do this.

EMMA:  
(Already unpacking some of the bags.)  
Oh, it really is no trouble at all, professor.  
(EMMA and HENRY both begin to put groceries away.)  
In fact, the store wasn’t even that busy. It’s just a little bit off campus, no big deal.

HENRY:  
It means a lot, Emma. I can never thank you enough.

EMMA:  
If you ever need anything else, I’d be glad to help.

(EMMA is all smiles as she puts away the last few groceries.)

HENRY:  
I owe you one, Emma.

EMMA:  
I’ll keep that in mind the next time I bomb a test.

(The two laugh.)

HENRY:  
Knowing you, I’m sure we won’t have that issue.  
(A beat. HENRY seems to be trying to think of something.)  
At least let me make you supper. Microwaveable college dinner simply won’t suffice.

(EMMA hesitates, then nods.)

EMMA:  
Okay, okay, I guess. 

(EMMA takes a seat at the kitchen table, looking around. TABBY walks out with a long string of yarn in her mouth, making EMMA laugh. TABBY tilts her head, walking over to EMMA curiously, rubbing against her leg.)

Is this Tabby?

HENRY:  
(HENRY turns around, a pot in his hands.)  
Oh, Tabby! Where’d you get that!  
(A beat.)  
Oh, yes, that’s my dear Tabby. She’s been with me for quite some time. Such a sweet girl, she is. 

(TABBY pulls at the yarn, meowing and pawing at EMMA’s leg. She simply smiles.)

EMMA:  
I’m a bit more of a dog person, but she is cute. How old is she?

HENRY:  
Well, if I’m being honest, Emma, I’m not sure. I got her on my birthday almost three years ago. She was even under a different name; Robert. But, I took her to the vet, got her her shots, figured she was a girl, and renamed her Tabby after her species! 

EMMA:  
That’s sweet, professor.  
(They’re quiet for a moment, EMMA glancing around the house, looking for pictures or letters or something other than TABBY to show any of his character.)  
What’re you cooking?

HENRY:  
Pasta. You like pasta, right?

EMMA:  
Love it.  
(EMMA wets her lips, looking away. The camera pans to HENRY cooking, then back to EMMA watching TABBY run around, chasing her yarn. TABBY runs into HENRY’s room. There’s a loud crash to the floor, making HENRY jump.)

HENRY:  
Oh, dear. Tabby, what on earth is she doing? Oh, Emma, be a dear, check on her for me? I’m not a particularly private person. I have nothing to hide.

(EMMA nods, getting up from the table. The camera follows her into HENRY’s room. On the floor is a picture frame. She pushes TABBY away from the destruction zone, picking up the frame. She looks it over, seeing the picture of the seven college boys. EMMA furrows her brows, smudging some dust from one boy’s face. She doubletakes as the face staring back at her is a young HENRY. She overturns it in her hands, seeing the note. She frowns a bit.)

EMMA:  
He did have friends.

HENRY:  
Emma! Emma, supper’s ready!

(EMMA hurriedly places the frame back on the bedside table, going back into the kitchen.)

What was all the fuss?

EMMA:  
Oh, Tabby just… ran into your dressing table. She didn’t damage anything; she probably just hit herself square on the nose.

HENRY:  
Oh, dear, Tabby. She’s always full of surprises. 

(HENRY pulls out EMMA’s chair for her, sitting across from her. He serves her first, sighing quietly. EMMA waits until HENRY has served himself before she takes a bite of the pasta, smiling.)

EMMA:  
Professor, your cooking’s… wonderful. Where’d you learn how to cook like that?

HENRY:  
I was never a chef, but when you’re living alone for quite awhile, you simply begin to pick it up. I watch TV, I watch cooking shows. With the minimum groceries I get for myself, I easily manage to make simple suppers for one.  
(A beat. EMMA is simply nodding along as she eats.)  
You remind me a lot of myself, Emma. Not just inside of class. You told me the story of how you skipped class on an honest mistake. One time, I went to an art class, painted a nude model the whole period, and discovered I was in the wrong class. I understand the anxieties of confrontation.  
(A beat.)  
Despite that, that’s off topic. Although, a bit on topic, I suppose. I was never a cook. In college, I lived with six other boys in a horrible, old, riggety house near the edge of campus. We made it work, however. Half of us were athletes, some were geeks, some did both. Now, Mark, Mark was a nice guy. He was a business major, along with another guy that lived with us- Chad -and he was an incredible cook. He made us something different every night- er, although, sometimes, I was incredibly picky. He taught me a few tricks in our senior year; I suppose I just never forgot them.

EMMA:  
I don’t mean to impose, professor, but you told me you didn’t have any family today. That all you had was Tabby.

HENRY:  
Perhaps. But I had friends. Not anymore. The only one I’ve spoken to recently was Chad, and he’s only in town for a bit. I haven’t spoken to many of them in years.

EMMA:  
Well, why don’t you have a nice reunion with them? Bring them all back to Hatchetfield for a weekend. One last hurrah, yeah?

HENRY:  
To be so young and so full of hope is a trait I wish I still possessed, Emma. I don’t even know if some of them are alive let alone willing to come back to Hatchetfield. No one wants to come back to Hatchetfield.

EMMA:  
If they were truly your friends, they would want to come back.

(HENRY nods, taking a sip of water. He looks away from EMMA.)

And, besides, professor; if the good majority are retired, they could come anytime they wanted to. I’m sure their… wives, if they have them, wouldn’t mind.

(HENRY takes another long sip of water.)

HENRY:  
Stu’s wife recently passed, I know that. He was always very codependent.  
(A beat.)  
That’s why I never heavily rely on anyone, Emma. People can disappear with very little warning. Sometimes they don’t even quite let you know when. They show no signs, no anything.  
(A beat.)  
Are you sure Tabby didn’t break anything? 

(EMMA nods her head.)

It’s getting late. Perhaps you should leave soon.

(EMMA nods again. HENRY begins to clear the table and set their dishes in the sink.)

Thank you for your help and companionship, Emma.

EMMA:  
Anytime, professor. Thanks for dinner.

(HENRY smiles, walking EMMA outside.)

HENRY:  
Of course, Emma. Now, make sure you get to the right class in the right lecture hall tomorrow morning.

(EMMA laughs.)

EMMA:  
I will. Thanks again.

(HENRY walks EMMA out. The camera shows HENRY closing the door on her. He walks inside, silently doing the dishes. TABBY hops onto the counter, cocking her head to the side as HENRY scrubs the dishes. She brushes against his arm, purring curiously. HENRY pushes her away slightly.)

HENRY:  
Not now, Tabby.

(TABBY hops off the counter. HENRY continues to tend to the dishes, not humming or singing like he usually would. The camera pans to a long shot of HENRY tidying up the kitchen, shifting to show the hall down to HENRY’s room. It zooms in on the photo of the seven boys, a small crack forming down the center, right down the center of a young CHAD.)

(The camera comes up on another older man. This one has longer hair, wisps of silver spread through what was an orange brown, however. He’s sitting with a small boy on an old recliner chair, helping him keep the book open. He begins to read from it, obviously put in charge of entertaining, as the camera shows a wide shot of a bustling dining room next to where the man and boy are sitting.)

THE MAN READING:  
Back when I was younger, I wanted a telescope, too, bud. Maybe if you ask your mom and dad really nice… Oh, your birthday’s soon, right? 

(The phone rings in the next room, the loud chatter dying down for a moment. A woman answers it, then goes into the living room.)

WOMAN:  
Dad, it’s for you.

THE MAN READING:  
Oh, thank you, dear. I’ll be right back, buddy.

(The man gets up, going into a guest room. The scene splits, one half of the screen showing CHAD on the other line, the other showing the man.)

THE MAN READING:  
Hello?

CHAD:  
Hello?

THE MAN READING:  
Who is this?

CHAD:  
It’s me, Chad! From college.

THE MAN READING:  
Chad? How the hell did you get my number?

CHAD:  
It sounds creepy at first, but you must understand that it’s for good reason.

THE MAN READING:  
Well, go on.

CHAD:  
I called the college alumni board; told them I wanted to send a card.

THE MAN READING:  
Oh my God.

CHAD:  
I know, I know. It sounds awful. But it’s for Henry.

THE MAN READING:  
Henry? As in Henry Hidgens Henry?

CHAD:  
What other Henry’s are there?

THE MAN READING:  
I don’t know. I mean, goddamn, Chad, I haven’t spoken to you- or him, for that matter -in years.

CHAD:  
Please, Greg, hear me out.

(The camera cuts the split screen effect, showing only THE MAN READING, who has been discovered to be named GREG. He runs a hand over his face, holding his phone between his ear and shoulder, sitting down.)

GREG:  
This better be good, Chad.

CHAD:  
It is.  
(A beat.)  
Did you know Henry hasn’t retired yet?

GREG:  
You’re kidding.

CHAD:  
I wish I was.

GREG:  
That old bat’s still a professor? Still teaching actively?

CHAD:  
He’s very good at it, too, from what I’ve heard. Evidently, teaching’s his soft spot; his achilles heel.

GREG:  
(GREG switches the phone to his other shoulder, standing, setting a basket of laundry on the guest bed. He begins to fold younger kids’ clothes as well as adult, wireless home phone pressed between his shoulder and ear.)  
His weakness is being a professor? What the hell are you on about, Chad?

CHAD:  
Well, yeah. He’s dead set on knowing that he’s educating the future.  
(A beat.)  
He doesn’t have any family, Greg.

GREG:  
He better be lucky as all hell. I can barely remember my grandkids’ names; they all climb all over me and beg for stories and… I love them. I just wish for peace.

CHAD:  
Well, you could get peace down in Hatchetfield.

(A beat. GREG stops folding for a moment before he chuckles into the receiver.)

GREG:  
Hatchetfield? I wouldn’t be caught dead in Hatchetfield. No one wants to go to Hatchetfield. Who, voluntarily thinks; “Hey! I wanna go to Hatchetfield today!”

CHAD:  
(A beat. Mid GREG’s line, the camera pans to CHAD. He’s seated in a small, riggedy loveseat, legs crossed. He’s scribbling down things as GREG talks, almost as if he’s an interviewer. He sighs, throwing his hand with a pen in it down in defeat.)

It’s about the musical.

GREG:  
What musical?

CHAD:  
Working Boys.

(GREG hesitates, furrowing his brows. As CHAD speaks, the camera pans to GREG. We can hear CHAD’s line through the receiver. GREG stops folding, holding the phone for a moment. He sets a shirt he was folding down.)

GREG:  
Working Boys? That… That sounds familiar. 

CHAD:  
The story Henry wrote.

GREG:  
Like a million years ago? Oh my God. No way that’s still a thing.

CHAD:  
It’s still a thing! And- and do you know how much it would mean to Henry if we all came together. One last time.  
(A beat. Both lines are silent. We switch back over to GREG’s side.)  
Just the seven of us. 

GREG:  
We’re not college kids anymore, Chad. We can’t just… Up and leave for Hatchetfield.

CHAD:  
I’m in Hatchetfield right now. I saw Henry at a convenience store with a tabby cat as his only family.  
(A beat.)  
Stu already agreed. 

(GREG is silent. The camera shows us only his side profile. He looks out the window, up at the sky, hand gripping the phone, knuckles white. He lets out a quiet breath, nodding a bit.)

GREG:  
I talked to Leighton last week. I could see if he’d be willing to come around.

CHAD:  
You would do that?

GREG:  
Well, I’m not going to Hatchetfield alone.

(CHAD lets out a relieved chuckle, nodding with a sharp breath.)

CHAD:  
Thank you, Greg.

GREG:  
I better start packing, huh?  
(A beat.)  
I’m with the family this weekend. 

CHAD:  
Oh, that’s nice.

GREG:  
How’s your mother doing?

CHAD:  
Oh, you know, same old, same old. She’s doing fine.

GREG:  
And your brother?

CHAD:  
Fine as well. He has the nicest kids… I’m actually away from them this weekend.

GREG:  
Yeah… what brings you back to Hatchetfield, Chad?

CHAD:  
Oh, nothing in particular. I recently retired.

GREG:  
You’re kidding! After how many years at that office…

CHAD:  
32.  
(A beat.)  
They didn’t have much use for me recently, so I decided to retire. It’s been quite nice, actually.

GREG:  
Well, that’s great to hear, Chad.

CHAD:  
You mentioned your grandkids; how are they?

GREG:  
Oh, fine. Were celebrating the youngest’s birthday this weekend; that’s why the whole family is around and in town.  
(A beat.)  
I forgot what a full house felt like. So much love and joy…

(The camera flickers to a less saturated scene, almost rusted, yellow, old. It shows an old, wooden table, seven college boys gathered around. The camera pans around the table, and, although some are laughing and talking, the audio is a bit muffled. There is a taller male with dark hair, serving some of the boys with spoonfuls of food. The camera then pans to a young man with curly brown hair, high cheekbones, and pale skin, who lightly scowls at another boy across the table, but dissolves into a smile, saying a thank you to the boy serving. The camera pans to the boy the other was scowling at, showing his face. It zooms in, showing a younger personification of CHAD, then dissolves into CHAD in the present, still on the phone, staring at the wall in front of him.)

Chad? Hello? Are you still there?

CHAD:  
(Seemingly falling out of a trance. He blinks a few times, then clears his throat.)  
I’m sorry, yes, I’m here. I apologize, I was distracted by something.

GREG:  
Oh, not a problem. I was just saying-

(We hear from GREG’s line a young boy’s voice calling ‘grandpa!’ GREG smiles.)

I gotta go, Chad. It was nice talking to you again.

CHAD:  
Nice talking to you, too. I’ll see you soon. Let me know when you’re in town.

GREG:  
Will do. Goodbye, Chad.

CHAD:  
Goodbye, Greg.

(They hang up. CHAD keeps the hotel phone pressed to his ear for a moment after. He listens to the disconnected beep. He nods to himself, clears his throat, and as he hangs up, the scene goes black.)

(The camera comes back up on a construction office. An older man stands at the front of a conference room, a powerpoint made up as the man presents.)

BUSINESSMAN:  
Essentially, our main point is getting this building mapped out, the check paid for the flat fee, and have it ready to be built near the edge of Hatchetfield. Its primary use will be extra housing for the town-halls occupants. So, therefore, the town-hall itself can house only when necessary. Oh, yes, the flat fee check will be quite the bill, but it’s nothing that a company such as ours cannot handle!

(A few of the men in the conference room nod, some murmur to each other. The BUSINESSMAN at the front is smiling, and, after the men stand to shake the BUSINESSMAN’s hand, he begins to turn off the powerpoint, getting his things packed up. The BUSINESSMAN takes his things, going into his office. The camera blurs the background, only showing the fuzzy figure of the man. We see the man’s name plate: LEIGHTON. LEIGHTON settles in his office, beginning to work on papers, when his phone rings.)

LEIGHTON:  
Hello?

SECRETARY:  
Leighton, there’s a man here to see you. 

LEIGHTON:  
Wonderful. Bring ‘em in.

(There’s a knock at the door. The camera shows LEIGHTON rising from his chair to the door, opening it to see GREG. LEIGHTON smiles.)

Hello, Greg. What brings you back to the office today?

GREG:  
I need to ask you for a favor.

LEIGHTON:  
A favor? What kind of favor?

GREG:  
It’s about an old friend… from college.

LEIGHTON:  
Oh no. Did someone pass? I always check the newspapers to see if someone passed. Oh, was it Stu’s wife? I feel so bad for him. She was such a wonderful woman; before I moved, she would make me these real nice cookies anytime I’d stop over.

GREG:  
Oh, no, it’s not like that. No one died, but… er… It’s about Henry. May I sit?

(A beat. LEIGHTON lets GREG into his office, closing the door behind him. He looks confused for a moment, staring GREG over as he sits. LEIGHTON sits across from him at his desk.)

LEIGHTON:  
Who the hell is Henry?

(GREG looks dumbfounded, letting out an awkward chuckle, almost as if he thinks the other is joking.)

GREG:  
That’s… You don’t remember Henry? Henry Hidgens?

LEIGHTON:  
Well, that last name rings a bell. I’m sorry, G. I don’t quite remember.

GREG:  
Your memory hasn’t quite been the same these past few years, right?

LEIGHTON:  
Dementia does run in the family.

GREG:  
Maybe this will help.

(GREG pulls his bag into his lap, pulling out a picture frame. He slides it across the desk to LEIGHTON. It’s the same picture that both STU and HENRY own. The camera pans up to LEIGHTON. His expression is unreadable as he looks over the young men’s faces. He slowly cracks a smile.)

LEIGHTON:  
Oh my God, Greg! The Working Boys! How could I forget?

GREG:  
Out of everyone I’ve spoken to, you’re the only one who remembered. Other than Chad.

LEIGHTON:  
Oh, God, how could I forget! Oh- you spoke to the others? Oh, Chad? Stu? Steve-

GREG:  
I’ve only spoken to Chad. Chad’s spoken to… almost everyone, other than you. I told him I’d talk to you since I had visited the other day.

LEIGHTON:  
Oh, how I wish you would’ve broughten Chad with you! I miss him. 

GREG:  
Well, you’ll hopefully see him soon.

(GREG glances to LEIGHTON, who is still admiring the picture and its frame. LEIGHTON looks up, smiling.)

LEIGHTON:  
So, what’s the point of all this hub-bub?

GREG:  
Well, like I said. Henry.  
(A beat.)  
Chad ran into him at a convenience store. Apparently, he’s yet to retire and only lives with a cat. He could really use some joy in his life, according to Chad, and we could possibly provide it.

LEIGHTON:  
What are you suggesting?  
GREG:  
Chad had the idea that we all go back to Hatchetfield; one weekend only.

LEIGHTON:  
One weekend? Just the seven of us? One last time all together?

GREG:  
That’s the idea.

LEIGHTON:  
Well, I don’t know, Greg. You know how much I’d love to; why, I’d up and move to Hatchetfield right now, if I could!  
(A beat.)  
That might be an exaggeration. However, I don’t know if I’d be able to get the time off of work. I already stepped down from my bigger position as an actual construction worker, then I went to the architect itself, now I’m the manager of the office. 

GREG:  
Lee, you’re in your mid sixties! You’ll turn seventy in a few years; why in God’s name haven’t you retired yet?

LEIGHTON:  
I love working. It keeps me busy, I don’t really have any other hobbies, and it keeps me out of trouble.

GREG:  
You really think that the company won’t give one of their most valued employees a vacation day?

LEIGHTON:  
Now you sound like my wife, Greg.

GREG:  
I’m serious. All we need to do is round up Mark and Steve, and all six of us will make our way to Hatchetfield. For one weekend. 

LEIGHTON:  
How do you plan on doing that? Rounding them up, I mean.  
(A beat.)  
I know your wife was good friends with Mark’s, but… we haven’t heard from Steve in awhile.

GREG:  
I suppose that’s true, but-

LEIGHTON:  
I check the obituaries all the time. I’ve never seen anyone even similar to him anywhere in there. It seems like he… up and disappeared.

GREG:  
Well, most of us did once we graduated. I mean, no offense to you, but, you didn’t quite tell anyone that you were travelling abroad with some construction company. 

LEIGHTON:  
Oh, of course, forgive me for not immediately telling my college roommates what I, a grown ass man, was doing with my life.

(LEIGHTON stands, fixing the blinds, looking out of the office window. GREG clears his throat, watching LEIGHTON carefully.)

GREG:  
A call would’ve been nice. I think you know that, though.

(LEIGHTON laughs, although it’s slightly bitter.)

LEIGHTON:  
Forgive me for a mistake I made… what? Forty years ago?

GREG:  
It was a mistake. We’ve been living twenty minutes apart for, what, five years? You couldn’t have called or emailed or something to let me know you were alive and well? 

LEIGHTON:  
How the hell was I supposed to know where you lived, first of all? And- and how was I supposed to know your number, your email?

GREG:  
Well, Chad managed to find mine by calling the college alumni board.

LEIGHTON:  
So, you’re mad at me for not stalking you?

GREG:  
I’m not mad…

LEIGHTON:  
Perhaps you should leave.

GREG:  
(Passive aggressively.)  
Maybe I should.  
(GREG stands, opening the office door.)  
I expect to see you in Hatchetfield.

LEIGHTON:  
Of course you’ll see me; let me know the date. Get out.

(GREG leaves, carefully closing the door behind him. The camera pans back into LEIGHTON’s office, showing GREG has left his picture of him and his friends. LEIGHTON sighs, looking it over. He opens his desk drawer, placing the picture and its frame inside. The camera pans back up to LEIGHTON, his hands clasped under his chin as he simply glances around his office. He closes his eyes for a moment, before he gets out a large, yellow book; what seems to be a phone book. He hesitates for a moment before he opens it to about halfway through, tracing down the column with his finger, eventually dialling a number on his office phone. The camera pans down.)

(The camera comes up on the outside of HENRY’s house, showing the back of a man in a long coat. He knocks on the door carefully, and we hear HENRY shout “coming!” from the inside. He hurries out.)

HENRY:  
(While opening the door.)  
Hello, Emma, I wasn’t expecting you to deliver groceries on a Tuesday-  
(A beat. HENRY notices it isn’t EMMA at the door.)  
Chad? What are you doing here?

(The camera pans up to show CHAD smiling, holding his hat in his hands.)

CHAD:  
Er, hello, Henry.

HENRY:  
Well, come on in, Chad, come on in. I was just starting supper! Here, let me take your coat-

(HENRY ushers CHAD inside the house, grinning.)

CHAD:  
Oh, oh no, that’s unnecessary, Henry. I just have a question. In hindsight, I could’ve simply called. 

HENRY:  
Oh, no need! I don’t mind visitors. In fact, I expect one on the Wednesday of every two weeks.

CHAD:  
Forgive me if it sounds cruel, but… you have a visitor often? Every two weeks?  
HENRY:  
Why, yes, one of my students, Emma, runs to get a few things for her dorm. She offers to get me my groceries for the house. Sometimes she’ll grab some treats for Tabby. Very sweet girl, she is. 

CHAD:  
Oh, yes, I remember you telling me about Emma. 

HENRY:  
She always tells me, no, professor, please don’t pay for me, or, no, professor, I don’t want anything in return. But… sometimes, just if I’m feeling giving, I’ll slip her a twenty.

CHAD:  
Only sometimes.

HENRY:  
If I’m feeling giving. Other times, I slip her a fifty.

CHAD:  
A fifty?

HENRY:  
What am I supposed to do with a fifty?

CHAD:  
Buy your own groceries?

HENRY:  
Oh, if she offers, and she’s already out, I’ll give her some money. You have to. She has a horrible job down the street from that office building. The coffee shop, I believe.

CHAD:  
Looks like you’re set, then.

HENRY:  
Yessir.  
(A beat.)  
Oh, forgive my rambling; have a seat.

(HENRY goes into the living room, seating himself on an old-man armchair. CHAD follows, taking a seat on the edge of the couch, back straight and stiff.)

CHAD:  
Oh, right, yes. I had a question for you, Henry.

HENRY:  
Fire away.

CHAD:  
It’s about Steve. 

HENRY:  
Oh, Steve! Is he in town as well?

CHAD:  
Well, no.

HENRY:  
Oh, well, where is he?

CHAD:  
That’s the problem, Henry. We don’t know.

HENRY:  
Oh. 

CHAD:  
It was meant to be a surprise, but, well…  
(A beat. Almost as if CHAD is debating on telling HENRY his plans.)  
A few friends from college are coming to Hatchetfield for a weekend. We all want to be together one more time. Your working boys.

(HENRY looks away. He clears his throat.)

HENRY:  
I’m surprised you remember that. 

(Cut to: long shot of the living room. It’s dark, the only light in the scene from a light on the table, giving the room a warm orange glow.)

It was ages ago.

CHAD:  
It was. But I figured-

HENRY:  
Why now?

CHAD:  
Pardon me?

HENRY:  
None of you have even attempted any sort of contact with me over the years. Why now? Is it because you’re starting to get older? More sentimental?

CHAD:  
You’re not mad about it, are you?

HENRY:  
Of course I’m not mad. It’s the fact that… well, like you said. Not a call. I may be a reclusive, old biology professor, but I do have a wall telephone.

CHAD:  
That’s not what I mean at all, Henry.

HENRY:  
Of course not. What you do mean, however, is my old friends are willing to communicate with me, only when it’s convenient. Nothing has changed. 

CHAD:  
Now, you wait just a minute, Henry. You know for a fact that you lock yourself away on purpose. You never wanted to marry. Never wanted children; you wanted to be alone.

HENRY:  
Maybe I did. But it would be nice to be able to count on someone else other than a student of mine.

CHAD:  
Henry, it’s obvious that we’re both a little… well, you know. But we shouldn’t be this cold towards each other. I came to ask about Steve. 

HENRY:  
(A beat. He takes a deep breath.)  
Of course, my apologies. I’m sorry.  
(A beat.)  
Steve. I haven’t seen him in years. He was never one for communication, was he?

CHAD:  
None of us were. 

HENRY:  
I suppose that’s true.  
(A bet.)  
I don’t remember a lot about Steve, if I’m being honest with you. He was always the least memorable to me. 

CHAD:  
Me too. But you tend to be more attentive to detail, pay attention to the bigger picture  
(The camera pans to HENRY. He crosses his leg across the other, looking relaxed as he drapes his arms on either arm of the chair.)

HENRY:  
So you believe I know what happened to Steve because I’m observant?

CHAD:  
In all honesty, yes. 

HENRY:  
I’m not… Now, wait a minute. Steve, Steve, we don’t remember much about him, right?, to clues, to… dust on the floor. 

CHAD:  
Yes?

HENRY:  
But I still have all of my college things in my lab for space upstairs in the attic! Perhaps there’s something about Steve in there.

(HENRY gestures for CHAD to follow him into the lab. CHAD looks around once he’s inside, reaching out to grab a jar.)

Ooh, wouldn’t touch that, if I were you. It’s some unidentified plasm that I haven’t discovered yet. 

(CHAD retracts his hand. He wanders a bit more, picking up a test tube that seems to be empty.)

Jesus Christ, Chad, have you never been in a lab before?

(The camera pans to HENRY, who is digging through a cardboard box labeled “college”. He throws out old tee shirts, old trophies, a frisbee, a football, until he digs to the bottom with a stack of papers.)

HENRY:  
Chad, Chad, look.

(HENRY shows CHAD the thick stack of papers.)

CHAD:  
What in God’s name-

(HENRY blows dust off the top paper, showing, in big, bold letters “WORKING BOYS: A NEW MUSICAL” underneath, “WRITTEN BY: HENRY H. HIDGENS”.)

Oh my God, Henry. You still have the original?

HENRY:  
Of course I do. It’s my prized possession, Chad. One of the only good things I’ve done in my long lifetime. 

(The camera shows HENRY hunched over the stack of papers, CHAD behind him, looking over his shoulder. The camera focuses on CHAD instead of the both of them now. CHAD’s face twists with some kind of concern, but he nods, nonetheless.)

Oh, but enough about me.

(HENRY throws the packet behind him, CHAD scrambles to catch it.)

Hm… Oh, here! Look, here’s that old scrapbook thing we used to keep!

(CHAD chuckles, almost embarrassed, wringing the hat in his hands.)

CHAD:  
Oh, you mean that scrapbook thing that Mark kept.

HENRY:  
Of course.  
(A beat. HENRY flips through the pages of the dusty book before blowing on it. Dust flies everywhere, causing HENRY and CHAD to cough. HENRY flips to the very back. The camera pans to the scrapbook itself. There’s one picture of a young man with messy blonde hair, but handsome and seemingly charming. Underneath, in sloppy handwriting is written “Henry- heard you’re keepin the book. Can’t wait until you blackmail us all when we’re old and boring. Keep in touch, dude. I love you. - Steve”. Underneath is a few scribbled numbers, what seems to be a phone number.)

Perfect!

CHAD:  
Oh, Henry, there’s no way that that’s gonna be his current number.

HENRY:  
You’re always so full of disbelief, Chad. Hm… that’s odd.

CHAD:  
What?

HENRY:  
It seems like Mark’s picture is missing. It must’ve fell out. Ugh, that’s what I get for letting it get dusty and rotten. See, look, there’s his message there.

(HENRY points to scribbled handwriting.)

CHAD:  
I can’t even read it.

HENRY:  
I’ve seen a lot of bad handwriting in my life, but Mark? Good God, his was the worst.

(HENRY smiles, quickly putting the scrapbook on the counter of the lab. He packs up the box with the things he’s tossed, then tucks the scrapbook under his arm. He goes into the kitchen, CHAD trailing quietly behind him. When he goes to the kitchen, he sets it down. He flips to STEVE’s page, dialing the number.)

CHAD:  
Henry, I truly don’t think that-

HENRY:  
Hello? Oh, yes, hello. May I speak to Steve if he’s there? Oh, Steve, I barely recognized your voice!

(The camera cuts to another house by transitioning over a wall. It passes HENRY and CHAD hovering the phone, going over to a man with darker hair, although he’s a bit grey. He’s holding the phone, scratching his chin with a small smile, almost immediately recognizing the voice.)

STEVE:  
Well, if it isn’t Henry Hidgens. 

HENRY:  
I’m so glad you remember me, Steve.

STEVE:  
Oh, how could I forget? What’s up? I wasn’t expecting a call from you. I thought you moved to Virginia.  
HENRY:  
Nope, no. Still in Hatchetfield. 

STEVE:  
You? Hatchetfield? Why, I’d never imagine…

(As the two speak, the camera cuts side to side. Note, everytime HENRY’s side is shown, CHAD looks extremely confused, pressing his ear to the receiver, getting as close to it as he can to hear the conversation over the line.)

HENRY:  
Imagine it, Steve. I’m still teaching at the community college.

STEVE:  
No way. You’re lying to me, Hidgens.

HENRY:  
Nosir.

STEVE:  
Goddamn, Henry. How are things? God, there’s so much we need to catch up on.

HENRY:  
I agree.  
(A beat.)  
But… that’s not why I called.

STEVE:  
Is something the matter?

HENRY:  
No, no. Well, Chad’s here, too.

CHAD:  
Er… Hello, Steve.

(HENRY pulls the phone away from his ear as STEVE essentially explodes with excitement. We can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but he’s exclaiming with joy. HENRY puts it back near his ear when the excitement has calmed down on the other line.)

HENRY:  
We were wondering if you were busy for a weekend.

STEVE:  
About as busy as a rabbit on Christmas, Henry!

HENRY:  
Er, alright, well, Chad knows more about it than I do, but the summarized version is that we wanted all of our college friends, back together, one weekend only.

(HENRY pulls the phone away again. More cries of joy are heard from STEVE’s line.)

STEVE:  
Oh, Henry!

HENRY:  
Before you ask; yes, I’m serious. No, I’m not kidding. Apparently we could get in touch with everyone but you. 

STEVE:  
Oh, there’s a reason for that, my dear Henry. I like my privacy, you know that.

HENRY:  
Of course, Steve. I do as well. It’s just tricky to see you. Especially if you’re in the mood for nostalgia.

STEVE:  
So, tell me then, Henry, how did you find my phone number?

HENRY:  
Do you remember the old scrapbook?

STEVE:  
How could I forget?

HENRY:  
Well, you scribbled down your number, and I thought it would be worth a try to call.

STEVE:  
Well, I’m certainly glad you did, Henry. 

HENRY:  
I won’t keep you much longer, then, Steve. I just wanted to know if you’d be able to make it to Hatchetfield.

STEVE:  
Of course. I’d love to. When would you like me?

HENRY:  
Next weekend work well for you?

STEVE:  
Works perfectly.

HENRY:  
Wonderful. I’ll see you then.

STEVE:  
See you then, Henry. Goodbye, see you then! See you then!

(They hang up, and HENRY lets out a breath.)

HENRY:  
Charismatic, energetic old bat.

CHAD:  
Henry!

HENRY:  
Oh, I’m only teasing.  
(A beat.)  
He only gets on my nerves sometimes.

CHAD:  
(After a small chuckle.)  
I suppose I understand. To an extent, of course.  
(A beat.)  
So, we have Steve, the un-contact-able person, contacted.

HENRY:  
I guess we have.  
(A beat.)  
I can’t believe you’ve gotten in contact with… everyone.

CHAD:  
It’ll be great, Henry. We’ll have a wonderful weekend.

HENRY:  
Oh, we could read my musical!

CHAD:  
We could, or we could, like, not do that.

HENRY:  
Oh, it would be perfect.

(CHAD runs his hand through his hair, nodding slowly.)

CHAD:  
Of course.  
(A beat.)  
It would be perfect.

(HENRY smiles. The scene transitions to the next morning. HENRY gets out of bed, checks the recent day on his calendar. “Class at 8!” is written. The camera stays in place as HENRY leaves the room, then proceeds to focus on the clock on his nightstand. It reads 5 A.M.)

(While HENRY is getting ready, the camera shifts to EMMA’s dorm. She’s fast asleep, although we see the dorm’s door open. EMMA hears this, looking to the clock, then to the door. She seems almost startled, grabbing a baseball bat from under her bed, obviously perceiving the shadowy figure as an intruder. She flicks on the main light, baseball bat in hand, when the camera focuses. It’s a girl around EMMA’s age, looking exhausted and almost hungover out of context. EMMA groans, letting the bat tumble to the floor.)

EMMA:  
Why the hell are you just coming home now?

EMMA’S ROOMMATE:  
What are you talking about?

EMMA:  
Hm, I’m not sure. Maybe because you just walked through the goddamn door with no text and zero consideration.

EMMA’S ROOMMATE:  
I tried calling you.

EMMA:  
At five in the morning? You thought I’d be awake at five in the morning?

EMMA’S ROOMMATE:  
I don’t know. It was the thought that counted.

EMMA:  
You weren’t thinking.

(EMMA stands, almost trying to leave the dorm.)

EMMA’S ROOMMATE:  
Wait- 

EMMA:  
Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell the RA that you sneak off campus at night and come back at ungodly hours in the morning when me- and other people on this floor -are sleeping.

EMMA’S ROOMMATE:  
Because then you couldn’t sneak off campus after week-day curfew to get groceries for your biology professor.

EMMA:  
You don’t understand.

EMMA’S ROOMMATE:  
You don’t understand, either. You think about that?

EMMA:  
I don’t understand why you think we’re in the same situation here.

EMMA’S ROOMMATE:  
If you tell the RA, I’ll…  
(A beat. EMMA’S ROOMMATE is thinking.)  
I’ll tell the dean you’re sneaking off to the professor’s house at night.

(A beat. The two stare at each other in a tense silence.)

EMMA:  
(Quietly.)  
Alright. I won’t tell the RA. Just… come home more quietly next time, okay?

EMMA’S ROOMMATE:  
Gee, thanks, Emma. You’re a real pal.

(EMMA’S roommate climbs into bed, easily falling asleep. EMMA is now fully awake. She eventually ends up getting dressed and going to HENRY’s lecture hall. She sits down in the back, the first one there.)

HENRY:  
(Flipping through papers.)  
Morning, Emma. 

EMMA:  
Good morning, professor.

(She approaches HENRY’s desk.)

HENRY:  
How was your evening?

EMMA:  
Not too good. I’m having roommate troubles.

HENRY:  
Ah, yes. I understand. I’m sorry to hear that.

EMMA:  
She just… comes home late-

(As EMMA speaks, the scene flickers to what seems to be an entirely separate scene, the same musty lighting and crumpled effect as some of the older flashbacks before. It shows a young, pale man with curly hair, coming through the door, checking the time; three in the morning. The scene returns to EMMA.)

She has zero consideration for anyone but herself-

(The scene flickers back to the flashback, the same boy obviously arguing with two other boys with familiar faces. One seems to be CHAD, the other GREG. The scene returns to EMMA.)

She’ll leave without letting me know-

(The scene flickers back to the flashback, the same boy obviously yelling and red in the face, slams the door to what seems like an old house. The scene returns to EMMA.)

I just wish she were gone.

(The scene flickers to CHAD locking the door, staring out the window as the boy walks away. He draws the blinds. The camera follows a young HENRY down the street, obviously walking off anger. He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. The scene returns to the present by fading into HENRY. He blinks slowly. He raises his hands, folded, to his mouth, nodding slowly.)

HENRY:  
I understand.  
(A beat.)  
You see, Emma, it’s sometimes the people we know we’d be better off without that make the biggest impacts on our lives.

(As HENRY speaks, the scene flickers again to young HENRY back at the house, knocking on the door. A young CHAD answers, hand resting on the doorframe. HENRY is obviously apologizing, and CHAD let’s him back inside.)

You won’t realize how much you’ll miss them until they’re gone. Until your paths cross again one day, you’re left to wonder what you could’ve done differently.

(The scene shows a graduation day. The group of seven boys take the picture that is on HENRY’s nightstand. As HENRY speaks, it shows the boys all collectively walking outside holding boxes and bags and luggage, moving out. HENRY and CHAD nod to each other, both smiling. HENRY puts his luggage in his car and CHAD does the same with his. The two speak, but the audience can’t make out what they’re saying. They both get in their cars and drive off.)

HENRY:  
This, too, will pass. You just have to be patient sometimes. She’ll mature soon enough.  
EMMA:  
Thank you, professor.

HENRY:  
Oh, anytime. 

(EMMA heads back to her seat as more students trickle in, leaving HENRY alone at his desk for a moment. The camera shows HENRY beginning to shuffle through papers in his bag, showing a copy of “WORKIN’ BOYS” that he had put in there. He takes out a piece of paper, writing down a reminder note. “Make copies!!!!” He writes. He emerges from his chair and begins his lecture. The camera stays in place, showing HENRY’s back, showing how animatedly he teaches. The camera slowly focuses on the sticky note, then to HENRY’s bag, showing the script on top.)

(The next scene picks up where it left off; zoomed in on the script. HENRY is shown holding it, obviously struggling with an old copier machine. He begins to kick at it, trying to make a few copies. The camera pans to show a few students turn to stare, showing that HENRY is in the student library. He smiles sheepishly, quietly returning to fighting the copier.)

(The scene changes to what seems to be the inside of CHAD’s hotel room. He’s on the phone, and, by how he’s writing and grinning, it seems as though he’s finishing up his final arrangements for his trip to Hatchetfield. The camera begins to show all six of the other men, including one we haven’t seen before, MARK, on the phone.)

CHAD:  
Well, Mark, we were thinking about all going to Hatchetfield-

(The camera pans to what seems to be MARK’s house, little kids, that seem to be his grandchildren, are running around, pulling at MARK’s sleeve, etc. Just being overall annoying.)

MARK:  
(Interrupting him.)  
I’m in.

(The camera continues to scatter through different scenes, conversations overlapping, when it finally ends on HENRY rifling through multiple copies of his script. He smiles, letting out a breath of relief.)

(The scene changes to EMMA’s dorm, her roommate seeming to be preparing to go out. EMMA is in bed, seemingly asleep, as the other goes to open the door.)

EMMA:  
(Groggy, almost asleep, without sitting up or opening her eyes.)  
It’s past curfew. 

EMMA’S ROOMMATE:  
It’s a Friday.

EMMA:  
Still. You don’t have to be out and drunk every night.

EMMA’S ROOMMATE:  
Shouldn’t you be sleeping with your professor right now?

EMMA:  
If that’s the only retaliation you’ve got.  
(A beat. EMMA sits up.)  
I’m bringing my old, lonely professor groceries and eating dinner with him. I give him company. I’m not out getting drunk and messing with people I don’t even know.  
(EMMA lies back down. EMMA’S ROOMMATE rolls her eyes, closing the room's door. EMMA lies back down, sighing quietly.)

(The camera pans to HENRY unlocking his front door, a large stack of paper stuffed in his bag, protruding from the bag itself, the flap on the satchel wide open. He goes inside, setting the bag down with an old-man-noise-who-just-threw-out-his-back-carrying-papers. HENRY sits down at his kitchen table, going through the stack with a growing smile, when he hears a knock at the door. He gets up, opening the door cautiously without looking through the window. His small smile turns to shock as he realises it’s GREG.)

HENRY:  
Greg! What on Earth are you-

GREG:  
It’s a long story. 

HENRY:  
Chad told me some.

GREG:  
Well, you’ll have a full house soon!

HENRY:  
Tonight?

GREG:  
Er… I think so.

HENRY:  
News to me! Oh, my, how on earth am I going to fit seven of us in this house?

GREG:  
Oh, I know you’ll find a way. Henry, you’ve always been so resourceful.

(GREG walks into the house, leaving HENRY dumbfounded at the door. GREG sets his things down, leaving HENRY to close the door, scrambling to get GREG’s things from him.)

HENRY:  
Well, er, let me find you a place to sleep!

GREG:  
Only for tonight, Henry. Chad offered to help get me a room at the hotel he’s staying at. I’ll just room with Stu or something.

HENRY:  
Of course, yes. Oh, you can just have the guest room tonight. Perhaps three could fit in the living room… Oh, I could find a blow up mattress. Are you hungry? I can make supper.

(HENRY takes GREG’s jacket, hanging it up. Another knock at the door. The camera shows the scene, occasionally flickering to the clock, more people flooding in, until there are six men crammed into the living room, noisy, catching up with each other. HENRY lets out a sigh of relief, pouring a few cups of coffee, passing them around to the men. All are familiar, as they’re all HENRY’s old college friends. HENRY seems to have relaxed a bit, when there’s a final knock at the door. He goes to answer it, opening it, looking completely ruffled and disoriented. EMMA is at the front door with a few bags. She’s dressed in what we saw her in before; sweatpants and a tee shirt, hair messy and tied up. She’s obviously forgotten that she hadn’t brought HENRY his groceries that week.)

Oh, hello, Emma. Excuse the mess inside.

(He let’s EMMA inside the house, helping her with a few of the grocery bags.)

EMMA:  
Oh, it’s no worries, you should see my dorm after the holidays.  
(A beat.)  
I would’ve tried to come over earlier if I knew you were having company. I didn’t mean to intrude. 

HENRY:  
Oh, not a problem at all, Emma! Just some old college friends decided to stop in for the weekend.

EMMA:  
Oh, that’s very nice, professor.

(The camera shows the two putting groceries away while they’re chatting. STEVE walks in after a moment, nonchalantly pouring himself another helping of coffee.)

STEVE:  
Oh, Henry! Who’s this?

(EMMA turns around, holding a box of instant coffee cups.)

HENRY:  
Oh, of course. Steve, this is my student, Emma. Emma, this is one of my college roommates, Steve.

EMMA:  
(Holding out her hand for the other to shake.)  
It’s a pleasure to meet you, Steve.

(STEVE over-enthusiastically takes EMMA’s hand, shaking it quickly.)

STEVE:  
Oh my, Emma! It’s a pleasure to meet you! Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d believe you to be Henry’s granddaughter! It took me back a moment. I thought to myself, now, old Henry Hidgens would never have gotten married, let alone have children that had a child! Oh, to be young again. I miss those college glory days. Live it while you can, Emma. It’ll be gone before you know it.

(STEVE speaks to her while vigorously shaking her hand. She smiles politely nonetheless, although it fades slightly, her cheeks hurting. HENRY looks away at the mention of grandchildren, making another pot of coffee.)

EMMA:  
Oh, I will, sir. I'm certainly enjoying my college time, certainly. 

STEVE:  
Oh, that’s wonderful, dear! Being young is like cupping water in your hands… Memories slip through the cracks much too quickly.  
(A beat.)  
Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Emma! I’ll most likely see you soon?

EMMA:  
Maybe.

(STEVE leaves the room, going back to the noisy room with the other men.)

Are you alright, professor?

HENRY:  
Fine, Emma.  
(A beat.)  
Would you like some coffee?

EMMA:  
Oh, no, thank you. I get my fill over the week. I work at the coffee shop by that one business building.

HENRY:  
Hm. I feel as though you’ve told me that before. 

EMMA:  
Have I?

HENRY:  
Perhaps. Would you like supper?

EMMA:  
I don’t want to intrude, professor. How long are your friends here for?

HENRY:  
Oh, that doesn’t matter. They’re only here for the weekend.

EMMA:  
I’ll get something to eat at home. In fact, I was about to head to bed, and then I remembered your groceries.

HENRY:  
Oh, you should’ve stayed at home. I don’t mind you being a day late.

EMMA:  
I’m not one to typically ask for extensions, professor.  
(A beat.)  
Besides. I’ve already missed the middle of the week.

HENRY:  
The day itself doesn’t matter, Emma. I appreciate the sentiment.  
(A beat.)  
Let me at least make you a snack or something to that extent? I have some snacks. Some crackers, jelly? I have a lot of jelly.

EMMA:  
Thank you, but… Oh, alright. But I can’t stay for much longer.

(HENRY begins to pour a glass of milk, setting out a few crackers, opening his fridge.)

HENRY:  
Do you have a preference of jelly?

EMMA:  
Er… no. 

(HENRY nods, setting out a random jelly. He sits across from her. EMMA takes a sip of the milk, scraping some jelly on a cracker. GREG walks in, making a small ‘ooh’ noise, taking the cracker from EMMA’s hand without even noticing. EMMA blinks, glancing behind him. GREG refills his cup of coffee.)

GREG:  
(Pausing, pointing at EMMA with a smile and a small laugh.)  
You look familiar.

EMMA:  
Me?

GREG:  
Yes, you. Oh, you’re the one at that coffee shop?

EMMA:  
Me?

GREG:  
Yes, you. Oh, you look familiar with something else, as well.

EMMA:  
... Me?

GREG:  
Yes! Hm… Oh! Now I know!  
(A beat.)  
My sister’s daughter’s daughter is your roommate!

(EMMA chokes on her milk, flying out of her nose, causing her to spiral into a coughing fit. HENRY gets out a handkerchief from his pocket, offering it to EMMA. EMMA is still coughing as she wipes her face.

I’m sorry, did I strike a wrong chord?

HENRY:  
Oh, Emma, isn’t that the roommate that’s a total bitch?

EMMA:  
(Still gasping for air.)  
Professor!

HENRY:  
Oh, I’m sorry, Greg! It’s just… Well, you know. Oh, dear, Emma, here, have some water.  
(HENRY hands her another glass, this time filled with water.)  
How’d you recognize her?

GREG:  
Why, Emma’s dorm was a party hot-spot for awhile! There’s a photo with her and her roommate, oh, it’s just darling.

EMMA:  
(Voice still a bit raspy from choking.)  
The picture where she, while drunk, woke me up to take a picture with me?

GREG:  
You just looked a little hungover, that’s all. Oh, forgive me, I didn’t mean to start anything. Oh, Emma, isn’t it? You have some milk on your chin.

(EMMA wipes her mouth, coughing a final time. GREG takes a sip from his mug, going back into the living room.)

EMMA:  
I think that’s my cue to leave.

HENRY:  
I’m sorry, Emma. I wish you could’ve gotten a better first impression.

EMMA:  
Oh, it’s not that. It’s getting quite late, anyway. 

HENRY:  
Oh, of course.  
(A beat.)  
And, Emma, before you go?

EMMA:  
Yes?

HENRY:  
Thank you.

EMMA:  
(She smiles.)  
Any time, professor.

(HENRY walks EMMA outside. He comes back into the house, then the living room.)

HENRY:  
Alright, gentlemen. It’s so odd to have all of us together again. But I can take no credit. It’s all thanks to Chad.

(The men all applaud, and, in a joking, accepting-an-award type manor, he stands, waving, dismissing the applause ‘humbly’. HENRY smiles.)

Now that we’re all together once more, I think it would only be appropriate if we discussed something near and dear to my heart.

(HENRY grabs his bag, pulling out the stack of papers, setting them down on the coffee table.)

STEVE:  
Oh my God, Henry! 

CHAD:  
Is that-?

STEVE:  
Working Boys! Oh my God, Henry!

LEIGHTON:  
Now, Henry, you certainly can’t be implying what I think you are?

HENRY:  
Well, what are you thinking?

LEIGHTON:  
You want us, seven old men, to put on some school play you wrote in college?

HENRY:  
Now, Leighton-

LEIGHTON:  
No, no, Henry, please, hear me out.  
(A beat.)  
The last time we were all together, it was right before move-out day.

HENRY:  
Of course, but-

LEIGHTON:  
Don’t you remember when you obsessed over this for months? Locked yourself in a room and wrote, wouldn’t come out for dinner-

CHAD:  
We’ll do it, Henry.

STU:  
Gladly!

(The camera pans around the room, showing LEIGHTON a bit dumbfounded, HENRY’s tension dissolving into a smile. CHAD almost nudges LEIGHTON, flipping through the script.)

CHAD:  
This is incredible, Henry.

STEVE:  
I forgot how detailed it was!

LEIGHTON:  
Riddle me this, Hidgens.  
(A beat.)  
How in God’s name are we going to put this on?

HENRY:  
The Starlight Theater, of course!

CHAD:  
Wait, wait, you mean that professional theater in downtown Hatchetfield?

HENRY:  
Of course. There’s a vacancy there currently. Not for too long, though, so we have to jump on it while we have the chance.

MARK:  
What’s our budget?

HENRY:  
Oh, Mark, always the math man!

MARK:  
Math man? Henry, how much money do we have?

(HENRY thinks for a moment.)

HENRY:  
Fifty dollars?

MARK:  
Fifty dollars? For a professional theater, a production, set, promotion, and one weekend with all of us together.

HENRY:  
Well-

LEIGHTON:  
Do you see why this is ridiculous, Henry?

(HENRY grows quiet, setting his script down. He nods.)

HENRY:  
(Quietly.)  
Yes. I understand, now.

(It’s tense and quiet for awhile, when STEVE stands up. He digs through his wallet, setting down a crumbled fistful of bills. The amount is unknown, but STEVE does this wordlessly.)

What are you-

(STU is next. He does the same, putting it in a pile on the coffee table. All of the men collectively make a small noise of agreement, digging out cash and setting it on the growing pile on the coffee table. All but LEIGHTON. The camera focuses on him. He sighs, slowly pulling out his wallet, taking out a few bills, hesitantly placing them down on the table. All of the men rejoice at his decision, CHAD even patting him on the back. HENRY is beaming, almost close to tears.)

HENRY:  
Oh, my, now, you all didn’t have to-

STEVE:  
Just say it! Oh, just say it, Henry!

(There’s a collective grumble among the men, until they begin chanting “Say it! Say it!” HENRY lowers the crowd.)

HENRY:  
It’s showtime!

(The “crowd” explodes into cheers. Fists are in the air, the room is noisy, and all the men stand and shake hands, hug, pat each other on the back, etc. The camera pans to the script, then comes up on a new scene, starting with where it ended off.)

(The camera shows us a sort of montage of HENRY and the WORKING BOYS preparing for their performance. HENRY is directing, LEIGHTON is designing the set, albeit hesitant, etc. We can tell excitement is mounting, and, as we approach showtime, the stage begins to come together. We pan to the Sunday evening, seeing HENRY putting up posters around town. He turns into a coffee shop, not following him at first, panning up to see the store’s sign; “BEANIES”.)

HENRY:  
(Walking inside.)  
Hello?

(A young woman is standing at the counter, leaning against the counter, picking at her cuticles. She looks up.)

NORA:  
What can I get you?

HENRY:  
Oh, just a black coffee, please, but-

NORA:  
(Disinterested.)  
Coming right up.  
HENRY:  
I’m sorry, I don’t mean to impose, but… Would it be possible for me to hang some posters inside and around your establishment?

NORA:  
Knock yourself out.

HENRY:  
Thank you, dear.

(HENRY begins to paste signs around the shop, even setting out a few fliers on tables. EMMA comes out from behind the counter, beginning to wipe tables when she runs into HENRY.)

EMMA:  
Professor!

HENRY:  
Emma! I didn’t know this was your workplace! Makes sense with the location, I suppose.

EMMA:  
Oh,yeah. This is my job.  
(A beat. She smiles.)  
Would you like anything? It’s on me.

HENRY:  
Oh, oh, no, thank you. I already bought something from the girl upfront. Mostly so she could let me put up the posters.

(EMMA picks at a flier, smiling a bit as she looks it over.)

EMMA:  
Jeez, professor. Monday night performance? One show only? How come I haven’t heard of this at all?  
(A beat.)  
Oh, is that why those men were in your house the other night?

HENRY:  
Of course. They were with me when I first started this, now they’re going to be there when I finished it.

EMMA:  
Well, you’ll see me there, professor.

(A beat. HENRY looks her over.)

HENRY:  
Really?

EMMA:  
Of course! How could I miss it?

HENRY:  
I haven’t tweaked it in, oh, forty years? It’s probably quite outdated. 

EMMA:  
I don’t mind.

HENRY:  
Well, thank you, Emma.

NORA:  
Dude, your coffee.  
(A beat.)  
I’ve been calling you for, like, five minutes. 

HENRY:  
Oh, I’m sorry!  
(To EMMA.)  
Alright, I suppose that’s my cue to leave. If I leave fliers, could you hand some out?

EMMA:  
Oh, sure thing, professor.

HENRY:  
Thank you! I’ll see you in class- no, I’ll see you at the show!

(HENRY gets his coffee from NORA, leaving behind a few fliers. EMMA picks them up, going behind the counter.)

NORA:  
I’m going on break early.

EMMA:  
Oh, yeah, of course.

(NORA exits, going into the back/break room. The camera shows HENRY leaving, bumping into someone. The man is younger than HENRY, but older than EMMA. He brushes past HENRY easily without an apology, going to the front counter.)

TED:  
My usual- hey, where’s the chick that rotates with the other one?

EMMA:  
You… You mean Nora?

TED:  
No, no, not her, the other one.

EMMA:  
Zoey?

TED:  
Yeah, where is she?

EMMA:  
(While fixing TED’s drink.)  
Called off sick. Just me and Nora for right now.

TED:  
Psh, that fuckin’ sucks.

EMMA:  
Yeah. Yeah, it does. Thanks for your insight.

(TED’s eyes are wandering the shop, noticing the fliers on the counter. He picks one up.)

TED:  
What’s this?

EMMA:  
Show at the Starlight on Monday. I know the guy who wrote it, directed it, and… is apparently starring in it.

TED:  
How much is admission?

EMMA:  
(Reading the flier.)  
A donation, I guess. 

TED:  
So… Free?

EMMA:  
If you’re an asshole, yeah.

TED:  
Perfect. I’ll be there.

(TED crumbles up a flier, going to seat himself at a table.) 

(A new scene picks up at the Starlight Theater. HENRY seems to be busy, putting up a flier in the entrance of the theater. He sees a police officer smoking in front of the theater.)

HENRY:  
Good afternoon.

SAM:  
Afternoon.

(HENRY goes back to putting up fliers. He pulls back after a moment.)

HENRY:  
You’re a police officer, right?

SAM:  
Isn’t that obvious?  
(A beat.)  
Yeah, I am.  
(He takes a drag from his cigarette.)

HENRY:  
Would you be willing to work as security for a gig, here, tomorrow night?

SAM:  
What’s in it for me?

HENRY:  
... A free show?

SAM:  
Huh. I’d never miss a show at the Starlight.  
(He puts his cigarette out, stepping on it.)  
Alright, sure. What time do you need me?

HENRY:  
Six work for you?

SAM:  
Works just fine. 

HENRY:  
Thank you, sir.

(The officer nods, walking away. HENRY smiles, and CHAD hurries out. He seems out of breath, almost as if he was running.)

CHAD:  
Hen-Henry, we have a problem.

HENRY:  
What kind of problem?

CHAD:  
Nothing- Oh, Jesus, nothing too horrible. Small fire in the prop room. The heat caused a draft on the paint, the paint and can warmed up, it mixed with something flammable, that’s it. The only thing that got ruined was a few of the props.

HENRY:  
Is the fire out?

CHAD:  
Uh… I don’t think so.

HENRY:  
Well, we should probably go check that out.

CHAD:  
(Almost wheezing.)  
Sure, of course, yes.

HENRY:  
Chad? Are you alright? You look horrible!

CHAD:  
I’m- I’m alright, Henry, just…

(The camera looks over CHAD. He’s pale and flushed, breathing heavy, an aged hand rubbing his chest through his shirt.)

My chest hurts like hell, though.

HENRY:  
Perhaps we should get you inside, yes? Get off your feet- Oh- Chad!

(CHAD collapses with a wheeze, wobbling as he’s on his knees. HENRY hurries to help him up. He shouts for help, but no one’s around. The scene changes to CHAD lying on a prop couch, a cool towel on his head. The six men are all gathered around him, HENRY completely down and at his side.)

STU:  
He’s been out for awhile; I’m calling an ambulance. 

HENRY:  
Is he breathing?

LEIGHTON:  
I think so. Maybe he just got overheated or something.

HENRY:  
He got too excited over the fire. It’s definitely something with his heart. We need to get him to a hospital. Now.

MARK:  
This is my fault. I shouldn’t have sent him out to get you. He was complaining about his chest all day- it was my fault.

GREG:  
No, no, it’s no one’s fault. He’ll be alright if we get him to a hospital soon.

STU:  
There’s an ambulance on the way.

(CHAD lets out a wheeze, coughing as he tries to take a deep breath.)

HENRY:  
Chad! How are you feeling?

CHAD:  
Like hell, Henry.  
(A beat.)  
I can’t see myself making it.

HENRY:  
No, no, don’t talk like that, Chad. You’ll be fine.

CHAD:  
I had a heart attack a few months ago. I told them I wouldn’t over excite myself and- and I did. It’s my fault. No one else’s.  
(A beat.)  
Henry, if I die- when I die, you have to know it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

HENRY:  
Stop that! Stop talking like that.

MARK:  
Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Chad.

CHAD:  
Henry, Henry, listen to me. You have a long life ahead of you- all of you do. You’re all going to do many more amazing things.

HENRY:  
You told me you’d visit once more before you left Hatchetfield. You can’t break your promise. You can’t.

(CHAD smiles.)

CHAD:  
I’m not too sure that that’s a promise I can keep, Henry.  
(A beat.)  
Mark, please don’t look so upset. Why, I’ve just retired! Oh and, Steve, you look so sad. Don’t be upset. Any of you.

(There’s a few paramedics that run in.)

Oh, my ride’s here. Greg, Henry, give them a hand; you two are the closest. 

(They do. HENRY backs away.)

Oh, and, Greg, one more thing before you go.  
(A beat.)  
Henry. About Henry.  
(A beat. CHAD smiles.)  
Take him to the moon for me, alright?

(The paramedics take CHAD away after GREG nods, backing away. HENRY stands there, shaking ever-so-slightly. He clears his throat, then nods. MARK is close to breaking down.)

MARK:  
I shouldn’t have put the paint near the heat. I shouldn’t have sent him outside. I’m so sorry.

HENRY:  
(Quietly.)  
It is what it is.  
(A beat.)  
You should all get home. Call your families. Tell them you love them, alright? For me. Get home.

(The men all leave without another word. HENRY stays there alone for a moment, pacing the green room. We see him clench his fists. He makes a noise of pain, knocking things off of the prop table, throwing things, kicking things, muttering things under his breath, etc. He kicks the door open of the prop room, red in the face. He angrily puts things away, knocking things over, banging things together. He slams the door shut after a moment. The camera lingers, showing a warm draft aiming to a can of spray paint. It explodes, a small flame flickering when the next draft hits.)

(The camera next comes up when HENRY is at home, making himself dinner. TABBY jumps onto the counter, rubbing against HENRY’s arm affectionately.)

HENRY:  
I know, dear. I’ll pour you more food in a moment.

(There’s a knock at the door. It’s raining heavily, a flash of lightning seen in the sky. HENRY doesn’t open it at first, simply continuing on dinner. Another knock. HENRY doesn’t respond once again. The camera shows the outside of the door. EMMA is outside, drenched in rain. She crouches down to speak through the mail slat.)

EMMA:  
Professor? It’s me.

(HENRY notices, opening the door)

HENRY:  
Oh, I’m so sorry, Emma. 

EMMA:  
Oh, it’s alright, I should’ve brought an umbrella.

(HENRY takes her coat.)

HENRY:  
Come inside. I’ll crank up the heat a bit. 

(HENRY pulls out a chair at the kitchen table for EMMA, and EMMA sits down, shivering slightly.)  
(The camera pans to scene a little bit later, a few minutes passing. EMMA looks more dry, more warm, and comfortable as she sits in the kitchen. She’s holding a mug of coffee, thunder and lightning crackling outside. We see a chess board on the table, and EMMA is setting it up.)

EMMA:  
I heard about Chad.

(HENRY sets the pot of coffee down, returning to the table. He sits down across from her, his own mug in his hands.)

HENRY:  
From who?

EMMA:  
Greg’s sister’s daughter’s daughter… my roommate. She was talking about it. It really shook up your friends; Greg included.  
(A beat.)  
Do you think he’ll be alright?

HENRY:  
You mean Chad?

EMMA:  
Yeah.

HENRY:  
No. No, Emma. I can’t see him making it. He was never the healthiest, and he’s one of the oldest.

(HENRY begins to set up chess pieces as he speaks.)

You see, Emma. I’ve never feared death. The unknown had never frightened me. It doesn’t make itself prominent until it reaches someone you care for.  
(A beat. He sets down more pieces.)  
What do you believe happens after death?

EMMA:  
I… I don’t know. 

HENRY:  
You’ve never wondered? You’ve never stayed up past sunrise, staring at your dark ceiling, thinking. Oh, what a horrible thing that is.

EMMA:  
Professor-

HENRY:  
You’ve never watched someone lose their light, Emma? You’ve never wondered what happens to them after?

(The two are silent for a long time, the chess board is completely set. EMMA nods.)

HENRY:  
I’m sorry, Emma, I’m just… Very emotional.

EMMA:  
(Abruptly.)  
My sister passed.  
(A beat.)  
Not too long ago. Miss her every day. I always wondered, if I saw her, one last time… What would she say? If she got to say goodbye, if she would tell me what she saw… what would she say?

(HENRY nods, seeming to understand.)

It’s a shitty thing. People we love- people we care about… they all have to die. Everyone dies at some point, whether it’s their time or not, that’s what the world decides.  
(A beat.)  
The world’s fucked up, professor Hidgens. Our time here is short-lived, luckily; but it’s what we do with that time that matters. Now, tell me this, professor, what will you do with the time you have left?

HENRY:  
Teach? Take care of Tabby? Put on my show?

EMMA:  
All good things, right?  
(A beat.)  
I know the injustices of the world, professor. The world is horrible, and we can do nothing about it. We go on. In a way, we must go on.  
(A beat.)  
Now, let’s play some goddamn chess until this storm passes.

(HENRY chuckles, then nods, moving his first piece. The two play in silence.)

HENRY:  
I forgot how well you played chess, Emma.

EMMA:  
Don’t you do it, professor.

HENRY:  
It does seem a bit drafty in here!

(HENRY begins to shake the table by bouncing his knee. EMMA begins to hold down the board.)

EMMA:  
Professor- don’t!

(HENRY laughs, making mock-nervous noises as he knocks the board off of the table. EMMA gasps.)

Ugh- you dick!

HENRY:  
Oh, you wouldn’t say that to an old man, would you?

EMMA:  
I would say it to a sore-loser asshole.

(EMMA smiles, beginning to help HENRY pick up the pieces. EMMA looks to the clock, noticing the time.)

Oh- shit- I need to head back to my dorm.

HENRY:  
It’s close to nine, isn’t it?

EMMA:  
Yeah. I don’t wanna get in trouble with the RA.

HENRY:  
Oh, I understand. Let me grab your coat.

(He does, handing it to her. He gives her an umbrella as well, walking her out.)

I’ll still see you Monday, won’t I?

EMMA:  
Your show’s still on?

HENRY:  
Oh, Emma, you said it yourself.  
(A beat, softer.)  
We must go on.

(EMMA smiles. She nods, opening the umbrella. She goes to her car, driving off. HENRY closes the door, sighing softly. We see HENRY do his night routine, getting to bed. He gets up after a moment, however, going to his desk. He opens his laptop, sending out a mass email to five others, the names all familiar. “Let’s do some work, boys. Four tomorrow?” He immediately receives multiple replies. HENRY smiles, the only light being the cold blue light from his computer screen.)

(The scene fast forwards to the next day, at the theater. HENRY peaks out of the curtain, looking at the bare audience. He notices EMMA, smiling to himself. There are a few more people in the audience, although they’re all scattered, including SAM as well. HENRY pulls back to look around the backstage. He does a head count, noticing someone is missing.)

Where’s Mark?

STEVE:  
He was taking Tabby on a walk, remember?

HENRY:  
Yes, like, three hours ago.  
(A beat.)  
Perhaps he’s still at my house getting her settled. It’s alright. We have...  
(He checks his watch.)  
... twenty minutes.

STU:  
I’ll call him.

HENRY:  
Make it quick! We already had to double up on one part, I don’t want to double up on three!

(STU nods, getting out his phone, calling MARK. He hangs up a moment later.)

STU:  
No answer.

HENRY:  
Oh, God, here, hand me the phone.

(He dials MARK again, getting sent to voicemail.)

We’re putting off the show for another ten minutes. It’ll give us a half an hour to find him.

(He pulls on his blazer.)

Stu, make an announcement, I’ll be back as soon as I can. 

(STU takes his blazer from him with a nod, and the camera follows HENRY downstairs, he goes to exit through the stagedoor, but we focus on some smoke coming from the prop room. HENRY smells the room, the camera losing its focus from HENRY focusing on the smoke. HENRY turns around, noticing the prop room is on fire. He gasps, going to the cooler, pulling out water bottles, throwing them onto the small flames. He’s obviously shaken up after, fixing his collar. It seems that not too much has been ruined, mostly a few wooden props, some not even used in the show. HENRY sighs, walking off. The camera stays in the prop room for a moment, showing the picture of the seven boys that has been relevant throughout hanging on the wall by a single piece of tape, close to falling, half of the picture burnt, the rest ruined with water.) 

(HENRY gets in his old car, eventually arriving at home. He gets out, going into his house. He pulls open the door, seeing as it’s unlocked. He looks around.)

HENRY:  
Mark? Mark?

(He goes around the house calling out his name, along with TABBY’s. He goes onto the back porch, looking around. He sees footprints and pawprints in the mud.)

Mark! Mark! Where are you?

(HENRY walks around the back alley, seeing a crushed phone in the middle of the alley. HENRY picks it up carefully, looking it over. The screen is shattered, showing missed calls from STU’s phone. HENRY overturns it, seeing an influx of texts; one from what seems to be a grandchild; ‘grandpa- pick up the phone. mom wants to know when ur coming home’. HENRY looks it over, shaking his head slightly.)

Oh, God, Mark.

(HENRY begins to follow footprints until there are no more to follow. He looks around, using the broken phone to call the police.)

Hi- hello, yes, my friend, Mark-

(HENRY’s voice fades out. The scene comes back up in the theatre, and HENRY walks in.)

STEVE:  
Henry!

GREG:  
It’s been an hour. Is everything alright?

HENRY:  
I think Mark’s in danger. I found his phone, shattered, in my alley. I couldn’t find any traces of him, and there weren’t really any witnesses or cameras.

LEIGHTON:  
Oh, God.

HENRY:  
I filed a police report, turned in the phone, and now we’re hoping for the best.

STEVE:  
What about your cat?

HENRY:  
I couldn’t find her. But she couldn’t have gone far; she’s strictly an indoor cat. She only goes out when we go for walks. Even then, I have to carry her home. 

GREG:  
Well, don’t stress about it, okay? They couldn’t have gone too far. Hatchetfield’s a small place. 

STU:  
Oh, plus, I know that indoor cats like that will stick to the general vicinity of their home. She’ll be alright. Mark will be alright.

HENRY:  
We can worry about that later. Right now, we have a show to put on.

(HENRY walks out of the curtain, looking out at the audience. There are only a handful of people left. EMMA is in the front row. She smiles, and HENRY relaxes.)

Forgive us for the wait, ladies and gentlemen. Some technical difficulties. What you are about to see is the product of my life for the past forty years. Back in college, I was a science and math education major, with a minor in business and presentation. Now, I’m expressing what I truly love and wish I had chosen as a profession. Theatre.  
(A beat. HENRY takes a deep breath.)  
No more conversation. Now, my friends, enjoy the show!

(The scene seems to fast forward to the end of the show. HENRY is sitting backstage, holding a bottle of some obscure alcohol. He takes a drink of the bottle, when GREG, STEVE, STU, and LEIGHTON sit next to him.)

GREG:  
People liked it.

HENRY:  
It was fucking horrible, Greg.

LEIGHTON:  
It could’ve been a lot worse.

STEVE:  
Henry, there are a few people out there. Maybe it’ll make you feel better if you talk to some of them?

(HENRY stands, using the others’ shoulders as support. He sighs.)

HENRY:  
Alright. I’ll be back.

(HENRY goes into the lobby, seeing a good handful of people. Some begin to clap politely, and EMMA approaches him.)

EMMA:  
Professor!

HENRY:  
Oh, Emma, thank you for coming.

EMMA:  
I put some money in your donation jar, rounded up a few people from work… I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.  
(A beat.)  
Where was Mark?

HENRY:  
It’s alright, Emma. Let’s not talk about Mark.

EMMA:  
Of course. You just seem upset.

HENRY:  
I’m alright, Emma. 

(EMMA nods, walking away for a moment to look around. The lobby is almost entirely empty. We see the homeless man approach HENRY. He taps HENRY’s shoulder, then drops a quarter into the jar. He smiles.)

HOMELESS MAN:  
For what it’s worth, Henry, is it? I thought your show was delightful. 

(HENRY smiles, nodding a bit.)  
HENRY:  
Thank you.

(The HOMELESS MAN nods. He leaves the theatre. TED approaches him.)

TED:  
Nah, man, it fuckin’ sucked.

(TED takes the quarter from the jar, leaving the theatre as well. HENRY stands there, dumbfounded. Three more people, two young adults and one younger, thirteen-year-old girl is with them. One of the young adults, a boy, digs in his pocket, pulling out a few crumpled bills. He gives HENRY a small nod, and the young woman smiles as well. She lights a cigarette as they leave. EMMA approaches him, the last one to leave.)

EMMA:  
I thought it was wonderful as well, professor.  
(A beat.)  
Look at you. You’re in your sixties and you’ve built such an incredible show, brought together your old friends…

HENRY:  
Killed one of my best friends, let the other go missing, lost my cat- my only family, started relying on one of my students for basic human functions, I mean, shit, Emma, I’m 63 and I have nothing to show for it.

EMMA:  
Oh, professor, you’re just a little upset, is all.  
(A beat.)  
Let’s just go back to your house and play a round of chess, right? Would that make you feel better?

(HENRY hesitates.)

HENRY:  
I don’t think that would be a good idea, Emma. Perhaps you should go home, telephone your brother, spend time with your real family while you can.

EMMA:  
Professor- your family doesn’t just have to be a blood relation. 

(HENRY begins to pack things away, going into the main house of theater. EMMA follows.)

Think of your friends. Your… working boys.

(HENRY stops. The focus goes from EMMA to HENRY.)

HENRY:  
One of them is dead, the other isn't too far behind. They haven’t spoken to me in forty years.

EMMA:  
Do you really think that any ordinary person would leave their families and jobs and drop everything for Henry Hidgens? Do you really think anyone that wasn’t your true friends- family wouldn’t drop everything for you?

(The camera focuses on HENRY. It dissolves into a younger HENRY standing at the front door of a beat up house, one of the similar scenes we saw earlier. The door opens, and there’s a younger CHAD standing there.)

YOUNG CHAD:  
Well?

YOUNG HENRY:  
Listen, please.  
(A beat.)  
I thought about it, and… I’m sorry.

YOUNG CHAD:  
That’s it? That’s all I get? That’s all we get?

YOUNG HENRY:  
I know you’ve gone through a lot for this, and- and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you throughout it.

YOUNG CHAD:  
I know you mean well, Henry, but we can’t keep fighting tooth and nail for you. You know that.

YOUNG HENRY:  
I don’t know what else to say. Other than sorry.

(YOUNG CHAD steps aside, letting YOUNG HENRY back into the house.)

Why don’t we go down to the football field tonight? Just the seven of us. 

YOUNG CHAD:  
I’m not feeling too good, Henry. The last time I went to the football field, I worked myself so hard that I got sick. Puked all over the turf.

(The two laugh.)

YOUNG HENRY:  
Then… I’ll get out of your hair for a night. Give you the place to yourself.  
YOUNG CHAD:  
You’ll get everyone out of the house? Just so I can, like, nap?

YOUNG HENRY:  
Nap away!

YOUNG CHAD:  
You drive a hard bargain, Henry.  
(A beat.)  
Well, alright. I guess I could hangout alone tonight.

YOUNG HENRY:  
Of course. I owe you one, Chad. I owe you all one. More than one. You six are the most important people to me. Like… Like my family..

(The scene dissolves into the present, camera focused on HENRY.)

HENRY:  
Stop that, Emma. Stop talking like that.

EMMA:  
You’re going to stand here and tell me that you don’t think of them as your family?

HENRY:  
(He turns around, raising his voice slightly.)  
You stop that!  
(A beat, EMMA backs off. HENRY lowers his voice instantly.)  
You listen here, Emma. Those men aren’t my family. I don’t have a family. Sure, they gave me a place to sleep and food on the table, but I haven’t spoken to them in forty years. Before you were even born, I was left alone in a house with a cat and no one else. Where was my phone call? My email? Before I ran into Chad, there probably would’ve never been one more word spoken between any of us.

EMMA:  
Professor- Just… Just think about them. You told me so many stories. You were so happy when you were with them. Like- Like the first time you went to the football field with Chad, where he puked all over the turf. The first time you told me that, you couldn’t get through it because you were laughing so hard.

HENRY:  
Chad’s dead, Emma. And nothing would bring me more joy than to have him back. But I can’t have that. No one can. So, please, Emma, don’t talk about him.

(EMMA nods.)

EMMA:  
I guess you’re right. You need some time to yourself.  
(A beat.)  
But- tell me. What happened to Mark?

HENRY:  
I don’t know. He left with Tabby and never came back.

EMMA:  
On purpose?

HENRY:  
I don’t know. He’s the one that sent Chad out to me before he died. He felt guilty, so he offered to walk Tabby to give me some time to myself to think and work. 

(EMMA nods a bit, looking away.)

EMMA:  
Well, I’ll keep an eye out for them.

HENRY:  
Thank you, Emma. I’m sorry.

EMMA:  
Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you at class.

(HENRY nods, watching her leave. HENRY goes downstairs into the green room, seeing the four men getting their things together. HENRY looks at them.)

HENRY:  
So, this is it, huh?

LEIGHTON:  
I guess so. It feels weird, though. Like… something’s not right.

GREG:  
Something isn’t right. Something’s very wrong. Two things, specifically.

STEVE:  
No need to be so negative.  
(A beat.)  
I mean, obviously, something’s wrong here. We’ve lost two of our members. We’ll probably never see each other ever again.

STU:  
Perhaps it’s a good thing. All good things must come to an end.

HENRY:  
I wish it wasn’t the last time we had to see each other. I wish it were just the seven of us again.

STEVE:  
At least we all can get back to our homes, our families, our jobs, if we have them… 

HENRY:  
I don’t have any of that anymore.

STU:  
Now, Henry…

HENRY:  
It’s true. Tabby’s gone. The only thing I have is my job. My home is empty.

GREG:  
You have Emma. She’s like a family, right? I mean, she helps you, she gets you groceries, gives you company, she’s… like a friend.

HENRY:  
The only friend I have in Hatchetfield, and I pushed her away.  
(A beat.)  
I’m sorry. For… all of this. This was messy and weird and… I can’t give any other excuses. You shouldn’t have had to drop your lives for me.

STEVE:  
It was the best weekend of my life.

HENRY:  
Really?

STEVE:  
Oh, yes! Oh my God, Henry! It was so much fun! I have never been to a theater. 

GREG:  
Wait- seriously?

STEVE:  
Seriously! Even our show wasn’t that bad! I’ve heard of so many worse!

HENRY:  
You really thought it was good?

STEVE:  
Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in awhile!

HENRY:  
Oh, Steve! I have no idea what that means, but- thank you. 

(They embrace, and the embrace slowly adds each man on, until they’re in a giant group hug.)

(The scene fades to HENRY alone, at his home, mixing a spoon in his coffee. He sighs quietly, looking around. It’s completely quiet, other than the ticking on a clock in the background. We hear HENRY’s narration.)

Maybe it was a strange circumstance, maybe it was all a part of the world’s plan, but I couldn’t help but think about the injustices of our world itself.  
(A beat.)  
They never found Mark. An ongoing investigation happened for a few months, but they eventually gave up and ruled it aside. Chad passed away not too much longer after the initial show. His mother invited me to the funeral; I couldn’t bring myself to go. My old radio broke down, so I ordered this device called an Alexa using my computer. It works wonderfully, almost as if it’s a real person in the house.  
(A beat.)  
I haven’t spoken to Emma personally in awhile. I’ve seen her in class, said hello and goodbye, but she hasn’t visited. It’s almost as if we’re drifting. I don’t blame her. It’s been a long year, and I’ve heard talk about the destruction of the Starlight. It made me a bit nervous, considering I had started a small fire when I had gotten upset over Chad.  
(A beat. The camera shows HENRY still seated at the kitchen table when he hears a knock at the door.)

EMMA:  
Professor Hidgens!

(HENRY presses against the door. We hear muffled conversation, and he eventually opens the door. We see, from outside, HENRY has become almost entirely reclusive. There’s now a gate around his house, extra locks on the doors, and the mail slat has been bolted. EMMA enters with a few other people, starting the story of TGWDLM. We get a few flashes of the story, until we’re brought back to where we began; HENRY being held up and getting his guts ripped out.)

HENRY:  
(Narrating over the scene.)  
That brings me to today. I never feared death, like I told Emma, like I told everyone. But, now, I think of Chad. What would he last think? What would his last thought be? And Mark. There was no humanly way that he could’ve survived this long with no discovery.  
(A beat.)  
And there I was. With my two friends, both infected and watching me die. They carried me off to a seperate part of my house, and that’s where I took my last breaths. I couldn’t help but hear Greg murmur something.  
(A beat.)  
Go to the moon. And beyond. For him. For Chad. For Emma. For everyone.  
(A beat.)  
My apotheosis has begun.

THE END.

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys we spent 2 weeks writing this & we rly hope u enjoyed it :") it absolutely ruined me but its ok we all die someday ! my instagram is porrkksoda pls follow me - co-author 2


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